


A Warlock's Story

by Beap



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bottom Merlin, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic Revealed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-01 12:50:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 36,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/356994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beap/pseuds/Beap
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tweaked and reposted...<br/>All warlocks suffered the affliction and in proportion with their powers.  Hunith's son must have powerful magic, Gaius concludes, for her to fear a wretched sadness.</p><p>Arthur cannot bear to see the sadness in Merlin's eyes.  He volunteers to help cure his rare affliction but the affliction, itself, takes them through many unforeseen changes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Ailment

Magic could be their best friend and at times their worst enemy. It was a part of them and yet something foreign to a human body. As powerful as a lightning bolt or as weak as a fire flint, magic had its merits as well as its miseries.

From his early teens, his mother had taught him how to cope with his misery, how to keep his agony at bay. She also knew that growing up had been the easier part. Now that her son was a young man, she feared there was little else a mother could teach a male child.

“…My dear, Gaius," Hunith writes, "I turn to you, for I feel lost and alone. It is every mother’s fate to feel her child is special and yet I would give my life that Merlin were not so. Ours is a small village filled with taunts and I fear what will become of him, here. He needs a hand to hold, a voice to guide, someone to help with his gift, as well as the wretched sadness it will bring…”

Gaius stopped reading her letter and stared at the words, “…wretched sadness…” The term sparked memories of before the great purge. He recalled his own youth. He also recalled the patients he had treated and the books he had read. One book was by Taliesin. The most powerful wizard of his time, Taliesin had also been the most tormented. Ages before, Taliesin had written of a “…wretched sadness…” in his journals.

As Merlin stood at his new bedroom window while mesmerized by the splendor of Camelot, Gaius rose and retrieved one of his forbidden books, hidden behind a stone in his wall.

"Neuropathy, I suffer," Taliesin had written. "Like shards of metal waging battle against my loins' desire. In my youth I cried out, in wretched sadness or in more wretched madness, denied another’s touch. Years of fear have wrought a numbness, my need for love suppressed. Now, age has offered its carnal release and still my sadness writhes. No offspring will mourn my passing, no immortality with continued name. Soon, I will leave this cursed life to those who think, gifted."

As a physician, Gaius knew that all men of magic suffered the affliction, and in proportion with their powers. Weaker wizards once whined of ants in their breeches while others confessed an annoying itch. Stronger sorcerers had said they tingled and stronger still claimed light pricks. Calamine, he would prescribe and when available, aloe vera extract. Both had soothed the senses well enough to allow each a limited degree of carnal knowledge.

Gaius then looked toward the steps. Hunith’s son undoubtedly had powerful magic, he concluded, for her to fear a wretched sadness. As Gaius stared at the door, his face grew long and somber. Little else he could do for the boy, except to help keep him alive in Uther Pendragon’s kingdom. He knew that Merlin would soon cry out like Taliesin, in sadness or in madness, desperate to know another’s touch.

*

*

*

Merrily they came, laughing and gossiping, to tend their waking ladies. Young prince Arthur knew that the maidservants poured into the square each dawn. A ritual for the virile young warrior, he eagerly rose and cracked his window. Standing, hidden behind his painted glass, he watched the elegant procession pass. There were tall ones, short ones, slim ones, others pleasingly plump, a few too fat for his taste, his eyes always searched out one, in particular. Honey-baked skin and long shimmering curls, she seemed to wake the sun, itself, and spur it to shine a brighter day. Of all the maids parading below, he considered her, by far, the most pleasing to watch. Each morning, he lost his eyes to her graceful stride while his hand crept inside his sleeping breeches…

The procession always passed too soon and a running straggler or two never held his window attention. Completing his ritual, he always moved to his bed while lowering his breeches and small cloth from his morning's sleep-awakened bulge. Honey-baked skin still fresh in his mind, he always fell backwards and resumed his stroke. 

Soon, the sound of gruffer voices would drift through his window and he knew the menservants were coming. His own once included. A fortnight ago he could stroke at his leisure after two embarrassing interruptions had long taught his old servant to become one of the male stragglers. His new manservant, a straggler by nature, had yet to interrupt him.

Arthur suddenly stifled an annoyed cringe. So much for luck, he thought, as he cast his eyes toward the ceiling and pretended that no one had entered. Surely, his new idiot would give him the same respect that his old idiot had given him and quickly leave.

Merlin didn’t. Instead, he stood stock-still near the servant’s entrance, beyond the prince’s desk, and stared.

Apparent to Arthur, this bold new imbecile was also a voyeur. Neither giving ground, Arthur grew determined to make him go and he proceeded to put on a shock show. Exaggerating his motions, he stroked himself much faster while maniacally pounding and bouncing his hips against the bed. When the idiot still would not leave, Arthur slowly raised his head and gazed upon him. With sex-darkened eyes and a lick of his lips, he asked, sarcastic, “Then, do you wish to join me?”

But as Arthur gazed upon him, he grew as stock-still as Merlin. He saw an expression that he knew would haunt him, forever. On Merlin’s face, he read a starving need to accept his offer and yet, one denied by a torment that seemed to cry out for death, itself. Arthur struggled for words to say, for questions to ask but Merlin had already lowered his starving, tormented eyes and in great anguish, he eased out.

Then running, until his lungs ached and his legs collapsed, Merlin dropped to the ground beneath the forest canopy. Exhaustion always seemed to ease the sharp daggers stabbing at his loins. Why had he stared, he reproached himself, knowing the price he would pay.

Finally, the ache in his lungs and legs started to ease. He sat lotus and turned his face toward the heavens. With soothing fingers that drew figure-eights upon his thighs, he closed his eyes and listened to the forest. He heard a summer wren’s lovely song… gentle breezes coaxing leaves to add music… lesser creatures lending backup vocal. Small rays of sunlight filtered through the trees and danced in warm tune, waltzing upon his face…

Merlin relaxed and let the symphony of the forest dull his daggers, like his mother had taught him.

*

Noontime, Gaius heard a shift in the normal street noise. In fact, he heard no noise. He went to his window and looked out. The Lady Morgana and her maidservant, Guinevere, were passing through. Everyone had stopped their normal activity to curtsy, bow or stare… After all, the king's ward was a very beautiful young woman and always so splendidly dressed, Gaius thought, when suddenly his door burst open.

“Gaius! Come quickly!" Prince Arthur beckoned for the court physician to follow. "Morgana dropped a sword on her foot and severed three of her toes!” 

Gaius didn't rush. Instead, he gave another casual glance out of his window and then moved slowly toward his eating table. “Go place her toes in a bucket of cold water," he instructed. "I will be there, shortly, to sew them back on.”

Arthur stared at him, dumbfounded. He continued to stand near the door, watching while Gaius sliced bread, apparently to make lunch. He wondered if he would ever rattle the unshakable old man. Since early childhood, he had tried. At five years old, he jumped out of cupboards or broom closets. Boo! His teenage years brought a more imaginative set of pranks. Blue dye in Morgana’s sleeping potion that blued her mouth for a week, animal blood on a faked sword injury or a strong laxative in his father’s muscle draft. Denied attention by a king’s busy schedule, he found Gaius to be more a father than his own. Foiled, again, by the crafty old surrogate, Arthur vowed, “next time.”

“Sire,” he calmly counseled while he sliced. “Have you considered that, perhaps, you’re getting a bit too old for your little pranks? I would hate to read the parable of a young king who summoned his knights to defend his kingdom but none came, because they all thought the attack was a joke.” 

“Speaking of jokes, have you seen my manservant,” he asked, changing the subject to the true reason he had come. He moved to sit at the table in hopes that an offered sandwich would afford him the opportunity to ask questions. Instead, he got a condemning brow for his insult.

"Arthur," he counseled further, “you must remember that Merlin was raised in the countryside. Our customs are a bit strange to him but he's learning them as fast as humanly possible. In fact, he's solicited help from Morgana’s maidservant, to better tend to your needs.”

“Guinevere,” he said her name with a smidgen of jealousy that Merlin might be stealing his sunshine. But then, why such sadness, he still wondered and proceeded with his probe. Standing opposite the table, he asked, “Gaius, is Merlin happy here, in Camelot?”

Again, Gaius appeared unshaken by his question, although it sparked the wretched sadness in his mind. Arthur must have noticed it, too, he reasoned, but casually inquired, “Why do you ask?”

“Um,” he hesitated, in efforts to avoid the embarrassing details. “Um, Merlin reported to my chambers this morning, looking rather… glum.”

“Perhaps, he’s missing his mother and his home,” Gaius offered. “In the future, I’m sure that you’ll do your part to make him feel welcome. A little respect and patience would certainly help.”

Arthur reluctantly nodded. Mere homesickness did not explain the acute torment and anguish he had seen on Merlin's face, that morning. Foiled, again, he exhaled, “I‘ll try.” Leaving, he accepted the old diplomat’s answer as no answer, at all. "Thank you, Gaius."

*

"Ah, Guinevere." Arthur acknowledged her from his desk while putting aside his quill.

Upon entering his chambers she gave a respectful curtsy before asking, “You wish to see me, my lord?”

“Thank you for coming,” he prefaced, standing. “Please, have a seat,” and he beckoned them toward his dinner table.

“My lord,” she objected to the impropriety.

Again, he beckoned. “My dear, Guinevere, I’m in need of a chat. However, my topic may be of a rather delicate nature. If you choose not to speak on the matter, I will understand. But, please,” he appealed, while pulling out a chair for her.

A more gracious order she could not remember. The royal bully did have his charm at times, she thought, as she slowly sat. “A delicate matter, sire?”

“Yes. Concerning my manservant.”

“Merlin,” she asked, surprised by his topic.

“Guinevere,” he said her name, again, finding it pleasing upon his lips. Much more pleasing than the Gwen that Morgana called her. “I’m aware that you’ve been teaching Merlin his duties as a manservant. I also suspect that his quick proficiency with my armor can be attributed to you, being the daughter of a blacksmith.”

She quickly defended, “I meant only to help,” 

“And I’m grateful,” he interrupted, implying no need for defense. Unwilling to sit, he paced alongside the table while often glancing into her honey-baked face. “Guinevere,” he said, again. “I’m further aware that teaching him equates to time spent. Can I assume that you’ve earned his friendship, and perhaps, his trust?”

“His trust,” she repeated with a wary objection.

Arthur readily sensed her caution and sought quickly to ease it. “To be honest, Guinevere, I’m concerned about him.” Despite his honest admittance he still read hesitancy on her face. “I grant you, Guinevere, that my initial introduction to Merlin was a bit… tumultuous. But since, I’ve come to find him quite likeable. Not to mention, he has a very endearing smile.”

Guinevere eased, somewhat, surprised that Arthur had noticed. “He does, doesn’t he,” she agreed. 

Arthur continued, pleased that he was putting her at ease. “He's also very honest and sincere.” 

“He is, isn’t he,” she agreed again, now smiling.

“And he won’t hesitate to say exactly what he thinks of me.”

Guinevere laughed. She was enjoying their private little chat. At the same time, however, Arthur was becoming embarrassed. Often glancing at her, he now felt that masturbating each morning while secretly watching her seemed somehow… wrong. Seeking excuse, he blamed his father. A sexually repressed tyrant, himself, who never discussed matters of intimacy or love with him, all knew that Uther Pendragon would banish, if not hang, any female who dared to approach his son. After all, the king had his royal bloodline to protect.

Guinevere noticed it all… his glances, how he constantly said her name and now, his discomfort. “Arthur,” she braved to ask, “Are you alright?”

“Um,” he hesitated and then he decided to use his shamed face to his advantage. Surely, such a delicate topic was cause for shame and he blurted, “Have you been sleeping with Merlin?”

“Sire,” she shrilled.

“The reason I ask, Guinevere,” he quickly explained, “is that Merlin looked so melancholy to me, this morning. I thought, perhaps, you’d broken his heart.” He speculated but he was relieved to hear her shrill. “When he reported to my chambers this morning, I feared that he would break down and start sobbing, right before my very eyes.”

Guinevere was not as blunt in her reply. She rubbed a hand about the table, absentmindedly noting its carved texture while she assessed the situation. She concluded foremost that Arthur had feelings for her. His constant glances and name-saying told her as much. She sought to put his mind at ease. “My lord, Merlin and I are just friends," she assured him. "While he has not mentioned a love life to me nor have I seen or heard gossip of one but I must admit, I’ve noticed this melancholy of which you speak. It seems to overtake him with little or no warning.”

“Have you concluded a cause,” he pressed.

“Which would only be speculation, sire. And that, I will not offer,” she said, while wondering if Merlin lacked an innate sexual virility or had even suffered some ghastly childhood injury.

“I understand,“ he nodded, accepting her answer. He nodded, more so, that her quick mind surpassed her physical fairness. Secretly, he vowed that his eyes would seek out another maidservant each morning, while he stood at his window. “Thank you, Guinevere. You’ve been most helpful.”

As she stood, curtsied and left, she thought how much the arrogant bully was changing. Not only was he showing compassion for his servants, herself included, but he might make a reasonably decent liege, someday.


	2. The Cure

Gaius' face lit to see his door open. “Merlin, where have you been,” he insisted as he rushed toward him. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Even in the dungeons and praying all the while that Uther hadn’t apprehended you.”

“I’m sorry, Gauis” he said, sadly smiling in greeting. Although the pain was long gone, his melancholy lingered. A day in the forest that once lifted his spirits hadn't helped. He sat with a weary flop at their dinner table.

Gaius noticed but did not press. “You must be hungry,” he offered and moved to get his dinner. As he ladled soup, he kept an eye on Merlin but waited for him to speak when he was ready.

After a moment, Merlin did. “I miss Will,” he almost cried. “He's my best friend. My only friend. He'd never make fun of me," he reflected, longing for Ealdor. "I can talk to him about anything. He knows about my magic and my,” he stopped, unwilling to say.

“Neuropathy.” Gaius completed his sentence and with a noticeable sympathy and understanding.

“What,” he asked. He looked at Gaius as if the old man had suddenly developed dementia.

“The ailment you suffer. Neuropathy. Like pins and needles in your loins.” Gaius surmised the extent of his magic.

Merlin corrected him with a preposterous huff. “More, like daggers. But how did you know?”

Daggers! Again, Gaius remained unshaken. “It may come as a surprise to you, Merlin," he said, calmly. "All men of magic suffer the affliction. Only, some have more discomfort than others.”

Merlin was indeed surprised and he asked, “You, too, Gaius?”

“Mine is a mild case, now. More like an annoying itch.”

“I wish,” he envied. “But I don’t understand. Why can’t I use my magic to stop it.”

“Merlin, it is your magic. Or rather, caused by it," he explained. "It would be like drinking to sober up or banging your head against a wall to cure a headache. I’m sure you’ve learned that any attempts only make matters worse.” 

Merlin nodded that he was right. “Gaius, you're a physician. Is there anything to stop the pain?”

Gaius placed the bowl before Merlin. Evading, he said, “Eat your soup.” He then turned and walked away, going to his desk.

His evasion convinced Merlin. “There is something, isn’t there,” he insisted. So convinced, his hopes started to rise.

“Merlin,” he cautioned his eagerness. With a stern glance over his shoulder, he implied the subject be dropped.

“Please, Gaius," he begged. "I’ll do anything to make it stop. Anything. If not, I think I’ll go mad.”

Gaius stopped center floor and closed his eyes. He knew that Merlin was not exaggerating. Like Taliesin had described, he probably would go mad. However, Gaius feared the cure might send him into madness much faster.

“Please, Gaius," he begged, again.

For the longest moment, both were silent. Gaius continued to stand with his eyes closed as Merlin stared at his back. Finally, Gaius exhaled. Madness now or madness later, it should be Merlin’s choice and he turned around. As he sat at the table, he saw such hope in his eager young face that it made him say, “Merlin, I must warn you. The cure is more painful than the ailment, itself.”

“But there is a cure,” he grabbed hold of the word and his face lit more.

Gaius was hesitant, again. In his silence, he thought of an analogy to better explain the cure. “Merlin, I’m sure that you’ve been in Camelot long enough to notice that the noble children will sneak off to play with the common children.”

“Down by the stone quarry,” he said, nodding, although he was confused by the correlation.

“If you’ve noticed closer, the noble children all wear shoes while the others run about the jagged rocks with nothing but their bare feet.”

Merlin nodded again but was still lost.

“The problem we suffer is basically the same,” he completed his analogy. “Instead of tender feet, our problem is tender tissues surrounding our sex glands. I'm also certain that it's the reason few warlocks have offspring. During his great purge, Uther thanked the heavens that so few could have children. Since my own youth, I've done extensive research. I've discovered that all males, warlock or not, have fibers that protect our glands. But in warlocks these fibers are exceptionally sensitive. I believe, the first pains start in the pre-ejaculatory phase. During initial arousal, a fluid, often referred to as pre-cum swells the gland and presses it against our sensitive fibers. Once this pre-ejaculatory fluid passes, then things get really interesting, or shall I say, painful…” 

Merlin listened intently to follow the old physician’s quick anatomy lesson.

“…A second fluid called the semen, which carries the sperm that impregnates a woman, is already forming. However, this fluid swells in numerous glands and presses against countless nerves and fibers. In other words, it's this second fluid that causes the most pain. Before the great purge, many warlocks sought medical help for what they described as tingles or pricks. In your case, daggers," he said but concealed his amazement. "Since only men of magic complained of the ailment, I’m convinced that magic, itself, is the culprit. I've also learned that the more powerful the magic, the more sensitive the fibers…”

Merlin was beginning to understand. He started to frown while shaking his head. 

Gaius noticed his anguished face and he quickly summed. “Like the noble children’s feet, these fibers must be toughened in order to obtain a pain-free arousal and any subsequent ejaculation.”

"But Gaius," he finally spoke out. “Like their feet, I'll have to endure the pain until I toughen up.”

“And the reason I don’t advise you to try,” he admitted and patted Merlin's hand before slowly leaving the table. Filled with a conflicting relief, he said, “I’m sorry.” 

So was Merlin. Completely crestfallen.


	3. Merlin's Choice

Merlin tossed about in his bed, unable to sleep. Tomorrow, he had to face Arthur to see if he still had a job. But how could he face Arthur, he wondered, after watching him masturbate. No doubt, Arthur now considered him a voyeur. Even worse, Arthur assumed that he wanted to join him.

Coming to Camelot had been a bad idea, he thought, while he tossed. Why even face Arthur, he reasoned. Why not simply tuck tail and run home to mother? Maybe, he was not ready to severe her apron strings, anyway. Maybe, he never would. With no sexual capability, he would never marry, never have children, never have a life of his own… What choice did he have but to go home and live with his mother, grow old in Ealdor and then die…

As Merlin wallowed in self-pity, he imagined a set of apron strings wrapped around his neck, slowly strangling the life from him. Then, he imagined the person wearing that apron. He imagined her calming hands and her soothing voice. All his life, she had told him, “Never mope on the things you lack but take joy in the things that you have.” 

While he thought on her words, he realized that he did have a lot. He had a destiny. He had an arrogant prat to protect and teach. He had a kingdom to build, people of magic and even a dragon to set free. A wondrous life was in store for him. So, how could he possibly let a little accidental voyeurism or even love, itself, get in his way. His tensions started to ease and he stopped tossing. Soon, he drifted to sleep, eager for the morning.

***  
“Rise and shine, you sleepy head!” 

Arthur was already awake and he raised a leg to hide his mornings' bulge. Like every morning, he waited for the lovely procession to pass. This morning, however, his eyes curiously followed Merlin as he pranced in, earlier than normal and filled with gaiety. Strange, Arthur thought, when just yesterday Merlin was nearer to tears. In his curious and strained confusion, he asked, “Um, you’re here, bright and early?” 

“To get you ready for a brand new day,” he beamed as he went to the windows to throw back the drapes.

"And audacious, too," Arthur replied. "You are assuming that you're still my manservant. I thought that you had crossed the border and back in Cendred’s kingdom by now, after what happened yesterday morning.”

“Oh, that. I’m sorry I stared,” he answered, struggling to smile through his creeping shame. He gazed at the window, searching for words to explain why he had stared when he remembered that Arthur liked one cracked. He had seen it open, often enough. But as he cracked the window, he suddenly gasped. 

Arthur closed his eyes. He realized why Merlin gasped. He also felt his bulge deflate.

Through the small crack, Merlin could see them all. There were tall ones, short ones, slim ones… His creeping shame crept away, slowly replaced by a broad grin, again. He turned to Arthur while trying not to laugh. “It's good to see that you like others," he teased. "Yesterday, I stared because I thought that you were in love with yourself."

“You insolent," he yelled at Merlin, searching for something to throw at him. "I’ll show you what love is!” Arthur grabbed a candle holder from his nightstand but Merlin was already ducking out the door.

***  
Everything seemed back to normal. As normal as possible for a prattish prince and his audacious manservant. Normal for Arthur, anyway. Merlin only pretended to be normal… He wore a cheerful smile for the outside world but inside, he felt himself slowly slipping into madness. He often questioned destiny’s logic. Why was it so cruel to make him a sexual mute and then make him manservant to a virile young warrior, who was in the prime of his sexual potency? Didn’t destiny realize! His life he would give to feel as Arthur felt, to know his pleasures and if honest with himself, to feel Arthur's touch. Despite all that destiny had promised him, Merlin vowed that it would not cheat him, here. No matter the price, he would feel as Arthur felt. 

**

 

Arthur was both grateful and relieved that Merlin was back to straggling. Out of sight, the sad and haunting eyes lessened his conscience and he resumed his morning ritual. Lady Hildegard’s maidservant, Tess, he believed he had heard her name called-- the one with the scanty lace that covered the cleavage of her large bosom -- was his favorite, now. Still determine to keep his promise to Guinevere, he rose, seeking out Tess, instead. Hidden behind his fresco glass he waited for the lovely procession to enter the square. 

High above Arthur, hid Merlin. Secluded in a tower once used by the queen, he waited for the same merry parade. Guinevere was his friend. So, not her, he decided. Tess bossed men with her bosom. Not her, either. Lydia gossiped too much. Aurora spit on you when she spoke… Merlin realized that he knew most of the maidservants and though lovely in their parade, the procession always passed too soon. After days of trying, he never got passed his annoying itch or light pricks, let alone reached the pins and needles, and all the while, feared the stabbing daggers.

To get pass that fear, Merlin knew that he needed more inspiration, more sexual stimulation. A prostitute, he concluded, was not an option. He was far too ashame. Besides, he would scare one half to death, screaming out in pain. Seeing no choice, he needed to become the voyeur that he so despised.

But watching horses, cows or pigs perform, he found, left him in the open. Not to mention time consuming since he never knew when they would mate. Animals in the forest afforded him more seclusion but again, time consuming and much too hard to find. 

Oh, so cruel was destiny, he thought, to have already provided an answer. As if guided by the stars, he knew exactly where he must go. Destiny was sending him right back to Arthur.

**

Standing, shadowed in the servant’s entrance, Merlin was finding it easy. If one could consider excruciating pain easy. Within moments, he was beyond the annoying itch, passed the light pricks, even passed the pins and needles when suddenly, the daggers came. Merlin covered his mouth, trying not to cry out. He didn't succeed.

Arthur was startled from his pleasure. Muffled yells made him leap from his sprawl across his bed. His smallcloth around his knees and knocking them together, he managed to pull the garments up while grabbing for his sword and rushing to the servants’ entrance. Just in time, he glimpsed a brown jacket, black hair and big ears disappearing down the small spiral stairwell.

**

Arthur burst through Gaius' door, again. “Where is that idiot manservant of mine,” he barked, this time. 

The unshakable old man looked up while standing over his breakfast table. Calmly, he asked, “By manservant, I assume that you mean Merlin?”

Arthur snorted. Neither prank nor anger would rattle Gaius and right now, he was definitely trying. With an obvious mock in his tone, he rephrased, “Well, have you seen my superiorly competent valet de chambre?” 

To his mocking, Gaius cautioned, “Please, Arthur. I’ve requested that you show him more patience and respect.”

“Patience and respect,” he demanded with contradiction in his voice. “Not when he stands in the shadows and watches me masturbate!” 

Gaius' calm nearly faltered. Disturbing news that Merlin was going against his advice. With great effort, he replied, “I’m sorry, sire, but I believe that is a private matter, which you should take up with Merlin.”

Arthur crudely interrupted. “Always the same appropriate reply,” he said however, he could see the signs of rattle in Gaius' eyes. He pushed. “I’ll take it up with Merlin, all right!” Turning to leave, he threatened, “I’ll have Father banish him from Camelot!”

Gaius panicked. “Sire, wait,” he cried out, rushing to stop him.

Arthur finally got the rattle that he had tried his whole life to obtain. However, he wished that he had not. As he turned again, the fright he saw on Gaius’ face put an equal fear on his own. “Gaius,” he insisted to know the matter.

“I’m sorry, sire,” he apologized, while trying to contain his panic.

"I'm sorry, too, Gaius," he countered, low and stern at his panicked apology. "But it is too little and too late." Arthur shook his head at him. "We both know that banishment would not rattle you, so. Something is wrong with Merlin and something serious, to make you fear my father. However,” he spoke while staring deeply into his eyes. His own pleaded to make Gaius understand. “My main concern is for Merlin," he admitted. "Tell me and I give you my sacred vow. Father will never hear a word of what you say, from my lips.” 

Gaius remained silent in his dilemma. From his own lips, Uther knew of the warlocks' affliction. 

"Tell me," he insisted, again, in a whisper but with an unmistakable threat still in his tone.

No choice, Gaius gave him the lesser of two evils and he answered, "It is not the king I fear. But, Merlin's sanity. I fear that he will go mad if you banish him from Camelot and remove him from my care."

Arthur narrowed his eyes and furrowed his face while he waited for Gaius to expound.


	4. The Vastness of Arthur's Heart

"Gaius, you did WHAT!" The bench tumbled backward from the force of Merlin coming to his feet. He threatened to jump upon their dinner table, grab the old man by his robe and pound him to a pulp. Angered beyond reason, he shouted, “You had no right to tell Arthur!”

“But little choice,” Gaius placated. He felt frightened that Merlin might actually pounce and start pounding him. “Arthur was ready to have Uther banish you from Camelot.”

“Then, you should have let him!” Merlin balled his fist, leaning and ready to leap. “I’d have rather been banished than for Arthur to know!”

“Arthur already knew!” Gaius swung the blame back at Merlin. “Did you honestly think that you could muffle that much pain while standing practically next to him?”

The blame hit Merlin square in his face. With a pitiful counter jab, he insisted, “But Arthur didn’t know that it was me.”

“Merlin, he said that he saw you, running down the stairs!” Gaius levied a knockout punch. With the fight knocked out of Merlin, Gaius relaxed. However, his unsavory victory was no victory at all and he felt the need to explain. “Merlin, Uther has been waging battle against sorcerers for over twenty years. He knows our strengths as well as our weaknesses, including this affliction. I regret it but years ago I gave Uther most of the information, myself, unaware that he would plan a great purge.”

Merlin took his defeat out on the bench. He slammed the wooden structure upright and started shoving it about. With the bench finally repositioned at the table, he sat back down.

Despite his anger, Gaius knew that he still listened. He continued to explain. “Once Uther asked the reason for your banishment and Arthur told him the same tale that he told me, you’d be headed for a stake, instead of home.”

Saved from a pyre, Merlin calmed considerably but he still could not say, thank-you. The information Gaius had given to Arthur was far too personal, far too shameful. Arthur now knew that he couldn't have an erection and the prat would never let him live it down. The same taunts, laughter and gossip that he feared in Ealdor would soon happen in Camelot. Coming to Camelot had been an awfully bad idea, he concluded as he dropped his head. “Now what,” he uttered.

“That's up to you,” Gaius announced but in a tone that sounded cheerful and pleased.

Merlin quickly raised his sad face. The tone left him baffled.

Gaius wore a small smile. “If you’re still determined to go against my advice,” he spoke as though he now hoped that Merlin would, confusing him more. “Arthur said that he'd meet you down by the river at the crack of dawn, each morning.”

Merlin’s lips started to move but no sounds came out. He had lost his ability to speak.

Gaius took advantage of his silent shock and he continued, "Naturally, the early morning excursions will arouse Uther’s suspicion. Arthur will tell his father of a running regimen that he's heard about, which is supposed to increase a warrior’s stamina. As his guise, he'll try the regimen first and if successful, he’ll make morning running mandatory for all of the knights.”

Beyond bafflement, Merlin felt dizzy from his swirling thoughts. He wondered if Arthur planned to play a cruel joke on him or a trick for more disparaging ammunition or a pity purpose or had destiny planned it, all along. When he finally found words, they came out muddled and gibberish. “Arthur said, he said he’d, that he’d… But why?”

“You’re showing a perfect example of why, right now,” Gaius teased. “Arthur is right. You’re much too clumsy. He can't afford the indignity of his personal manservant caught sneaking about the castle and gawking into bedrooms."


	5. In Phantom Screams

Ridiculous to jog in chainmail, Arthur wore some old clothes and his longcoat. Day dawning, he sat on a rock by the large river. Like the accidental voyeurism, he knew that Merlin avoided him again, after his intentional voyeurism. He had not seen Merlin since the previous morning. With pebbles rolling in his hand and elbows resting on his knees, Arthur stared at the river's rapid flow but a while ago, he had stopped watching the water. A sad smile on his face, he absently tossed a pebble into the deep stream each time he recalled one of Merlin’s silly jokes, or one of his insolent retorts or imagined his goofy, cheeky grin. His smile was sad because he still felt haunted. Like Gaius, he feared for Merlin’s sanity and prayed that their endeavor would work. No human should have to endure that much torment, he thought, and despite a madness verdict, Merlin still managed to laugh, joke and tease him.

As Arthur sat thinking, he realized that he was heir to a kingdom coveted for its wealth and splendor, that he trained an army renowned for its skill and strength, that he was groomed to marry a princess and was expected to have an abundance of children. All the while, Merlin had nothing. No country worth mentioning, no wealth, no prospect of intimacy, not even his virility in youth and yet, he envied Merlin. If he had half of Merlin's heart, his courage, his spirit…

A twig snapped behind Arthur's left flank and his warrior instincts took over. He threw all of his pebbles at once, disguising a glance. However, he settled again and stared at the water. After a moment, he spoke, “You’re late.”

Merlin stopped several meters to his left, hesitant to approach. “How did you know that I'd come," he asked.

“Because I would, if I were you,” he answered, matter of fact, while standing. “We haven’t much time. I’m expected back to start training, soon.” 

Merlin still maintained his distance. “Arthur, I don’t understand. Why are you doing this,” he insisted to know the reason.

“Isn’t it obvious,” he joked, approaching first to ease their tensions. “When Gaius claimed of a cure for this rare affliction you suffer but said that no one could self-inflict that much pain,” 

"So, you're doing it to hurt me," he asked, and he managed a smile at Arthur's cruel humor. 

Arthur smiled, too, and then beckoned his head, pointing upstream. "Come," he ordered, moving quickly. 

“Where are we going,” he insisted, again, but followed him, anyway.

Arthur joked in his cruel humor, again. “You don’t expect us to stay out in the open with you screaming like a big girl, do you," he asked. "Someone might mistake you for a damsel in distress and come rushing to save your virginity.”

“Which you seem in an awful hurry to take,” he uttered, while pacing to keep up.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Merlin,” he countered, as he started easing along the rocky bank, stepping over fallen branches and muddy puddles while grabbing tree limbs to help aid his progress. “There is a little cave etched into the hillside, just up ahead. I discovered it, years ago. Whenever Father and I had a rift, I would hide in it. Sometimes all day, and not be found. I often wonder if anyone else even knows that it exists…” 

Merlin followed while silently thanking Arthur for his monologue. He knew Arthur sensed that he was terrified. He was also starting to learn and appreciate the vastness of Arthur's heart.

They finally passed a high wall of boulders hanging from the hillside and then Arthur put both feet on solid ground. Standing just inside the cave’s entrance, he smiled again, boasting, “I’m sure this will serve our purpose and quite nicely.” 

Seconds behind him, Merlin arrived and peered inside. He startled to see that Arthur had been there, earlier. Torches were lit at the back of the small cave and a blanket was spread upon the dry dusty ground. Arthur had even brought in a pitcher of water, bread and fruit. Merlin slowly entered, fearful of starting the long and arduous process to cure his affliction.

Arthur continued to the back wall while speaking, “We must hurry. I’ve been away too long, already.” Once at the back wall, he quickly turned but found Merlin standing and gazing about the cave. "What are you waiting for," he insisted as he started beckoning at Merlin, gesturing below his waist.

Merlin looked down at where he gestured. “What,” he asked.

“What do you mean, what, you idiot," he demanded. "Start whipping your log so I can see how far you get. Then, I’ll jump in and help.”

Merlin looked back up at him with widening eyes. “Arthur, even you use the maidservants,” he explained.

After a moment, Arthur said, “Oh,” and he started gazing about the small, tree-rooted cave, too, as if expecting to find the answer embedded along with the rocks and dirt. "Well," he uttered, at a loss.

At the same time, Merlin scratched at his jaw. Suddenly, with a stroke of genius, he suggested, “Maybe, if you go first and I’ll watch.” After all, it had worked before. 

Arthur snapped at his idea, gruff, again. “I didn’t come out here for your entertainment!” 

They fell silent, again and then Merlin offered another suggestion. “Maybe, we could start together and by touching each other, since we don't have the maidservants to look at?”

Arthur glared at him. Grumbling, he said, “I hadn’t planned it like this.” But thinking of nothing, himself, he reluctantly nodded, "alright." He unsheathed his sword but refused to remove his longcoat. 

With hesitant steps, they inched closer to each other. Standing face to face but too embarrassed to make eye contact, they stood, awkwardly raising their hands. In their uncertainty, they started lowering them, again. Then, raising them. Lowering them. Raising them. Their courage building, they started reaching to touch a shoulder. No, an arm. No, a jaw. No, a neck. No, a shoulder. No, an arm… Arthur finally said, “Oh, hell! We don’t have all day!” He grabbed Merlin by the back of his neck and brought their lips together.

Merlin responded with cross-eyed surprise. However, both were more surprised by the chemistry they felt. Testing experimentally the curve and texture of the other's mouth, their awkward hands soon became stationary upon a shoulder, a neck, an arm. Within moments, they were moaning into their kiss while slowly sinking onto the blanket.

Lost in their pleasure with rubbing loins sliding harder to gain more friction, Merlin’s pleasure was quickly turning into pain. 

Arthur readily felt his passion changing. “Stay with me, Merlin," he pleaded against his lips. " Stay with me…” As he pleaded, he wrapped his arms around Merlin, holding him through his mounting agony. “You can do this… Please, stay with me…” 

The daggers stabbing hard and continuous, Merlin started screaming into his mouth. Arthur’s heart ached to share his torment. It literally broke to feel his pain. Fearing for Merlin's sanity, he knew that Merlin could take no more. He started pulling away. 

Merlin wouldn’t let him go. He dug his fingers into Arthur’s back and fought with all of his might to maintain his precious though excruciating erection. Grinding his organ harder against Arthur, he suddenly fought embarrassment and panic as well as agony to find that Arthur’s erection was waning, like his own. 

Arthur couldn’t let him down. He simply couldn't. He started kissing Merlin greedily about his jaws and mouth in a desperate attempt to stay hard for him, while Merlin yelled and rutted against him. 

Suddenly, with nerve-shattering screams that seemed to shake his very being, Merlin managed his first ejaculation. One, which he now prayed to forget but knew that he would remember forever. Yelling and trembling in waves of pain, he rolled over and balled into himself. 

Arthur felt helpless. All he could think to do, he rubbed soothing circles upon Merlin’s back. He continued until Merlin seemed settled enough for him to chance leaving. Unwilling to go, Arthur retrieved the pitcher and coaxed him to drink. “You must try to eat something, too,” he pleaded, offering him bread and fruit.

Merlin shook his head. Completely drained as the daggers still waged battle against his loins, he longed for unconsciousness.

Arthur hoped he would sleep. He sheathed his sword while moving toward the cave’s entrance. After a long stare back at Merlin, he finally left. Once off the river’s bank, he started jobbing and then running, faster and faster, until the phantom yells echoing in his brain pushed his feet at a maniacal pace. His longcoat flapped in the wind as if a bird taking cowardly flight from the maddening screams. With tears smearing his cheeks, he openly cried to leave Merlin behind, huddled and hurting in the cave.


	6. A Private Dignity

The knights had never seen the likes. Their prince moved about the training field while cutting them down like little green saplings. One, two, push and each hit the ground. All of it, done on pure instinct. The prince's mind seemed leagues from the training field and yet it was the best training that they had ever received. Prince Arthur was the greatest swordsman the world would ever know, the knights unanimously proclaimed. 

During court council, Arthur’s mind was still in the cave. When asked his opinion on various issues, his responses were short, concise and again instinctive. Uther, himself, was amazed and proud of his young son’s sudden wisdom.

As the council adjourned, Arthur almost ran to Gaius with eyes that needed no words to ask.

“Sire," Gaius pleaded his calm. "He hasn’t returned of yet but give him a little more time. I’m sure that he’s alright.” 

The answer was not good enough for Arthur. He left Gaius standing and without so much as a head nod to imply thank you. In his rapid pace, he continued to his room to grab his riding gear. The instant he opened his door, he stopped deadly still as one word escaped his lips. “Merlin.” 

“It looks as though you held a banquet for your horses, in here,” he fussed. Stooped and snatching items from the cluttered floor, one was Arthur’s sweat-soaked training tunic and he held it at arm’s length. “Smells like you brought in some pigs, too.” 

Arthur dismissed his insolence as trivial. He remained silent as he continued into his chambers but with his eagle eyes honed in on Merlin’s every movement.

“There’s no need to stare at me, Arthur,” he fussed, again. “I’m alright. I’m more concerned to know if you are,” he questioned, probing. “That couldn’t have been easy for you.”

In agreement, Arthur sighed. With Merlin obviously well enough to levy insults, he flopped at his dinner table and let himself finally succumb to his exhaustion. As relief poured from him, he cynically joked, “Like facing a wild boar and with nothing but my bare hands. Next time, I’ll know what to expect.”

“There won’t be a next time,” he announced with nonchalance but he continued to snatch up cloths, scrolls, candles, dishes…

Arthur was ready to protest. No doubt to him, Merlin feared the pain. So did he. That much was clear. However, Arthur quickly realized that fear or pain would not stop someone as courageous as Merlin. The insolence and anger spilling from him disguised something else, something deeper. Again, Arthur went on instinct. Low and tender, he said, “Merlin, there's no shame in needing someone's help.”

Merlin stood upright. He clutched the items to his chest, turned and stared at Arthur. Suddenly, his eyes scrunched and his lips started to quiver. Fighting an open cry, he knew that Arthur was right. It was not his fear or pain. It was humiliation. He felt disgraced by his actions in the cave. He had used Arthur -- had forcefully grabbed hold of him and grinded against his body when Arthur was trying to pull away. He felt so ashamed.

“Merlin,” he whispered, now convinced that his instincts were right. “I won’t abandon you," he said. "I’ll be there and for as long as you have need of me.” 

Heartfelt words filled with such acceptance for what he had done to Arthur, Merlin no longer braved to look at him. He turned from Arthur as he lost his fight and openly cried.

Arthur stood, leaving. He knew that Merlin felt disgraced enough, already. Watching him cry would only rob more of his pride. He left to give Merlin the same private dignity that the forest had afforded him.


	7. Stalled

Merlin smiled between his lazy kisses. The unhurried mornings in the cave after a knight’s induction and banquet were his favorite. Field training was always suspended the next day, which allowed him a slow and measured arousal. Reclined atop Arthur, he shifted with a ginger thrust of his hips and started nibbling on his ear to further arouse himself. “I knew that Lancelot would make a great knight,” he boasted, giving himself a symbolic pat on the back. “You should have seen the way he charged the creature, after it attacked me.” 

“For once in your life, you were right about something,” Arthur answered with his own languid smile that interrupted his threat to snooze on Merlin. Jogging to the cave had been strenuous enough but hung over, too, he simply unsheathed his sword and reclined face up on the blanket, leaving Merlin to do the rest. 

Laughter at the compliment that was actually an insult, he said, “I guess I should say, thank you.” He then added another leisurely kiss to Arthur’s bottom lip. Hung over as well, he had consumed a yard of ale at Lancelot’s induction ceremony. With his leisurely kisses, he gave occasional churns of his hips or cautious thrusts against Arthur’s half-rigid manhood. “ 'Sir' Lancelot earned his title on merit," he praised before slyly injecting the truth. "Not because he comes from a royal family."

“A lucky trick,” he yawned out, threatening to snooze, again.

“But a legal one,” he corrected, seizing the yawn as an opportunity to graze their tongues. “You, yourself, said that anything goes. Lancelot did more than last your minute. He actually beat you.” 

“Did he, now,” Arthur gave rhetoric through a second but deliberate yawn, anticipating his tongue. Catching him off guard, Arthur bit it. “A wise person would know when to shut up,” he joked and with an upward thrust, making Merlin grimace. “Sorry,” he apologized but his little smirking smile said otherwise. 

Merlin laughed, again, through the sudden pain and even braved to retaliate. “Sir Lancelot gets all the girls, too. I saw the way Morgana and Gwen were looking at him, last night," he said while bracing for another thrust. "I believe he’s taken a real fancy to Gwen.” 

No thrust came. Instead, he watched Arthur’s face go stolid. 

As if lost in thought, Arthur suddenly changed the subject. “Father believes the creature is headed south, toward the mouth of the valley. He expects it to hit Camelot in a couple of days. But if it attacked you, that means it's already in the area and has been for a while, now. A flying creature resembling a bird, it may have even built a nest, close by.” Without warning, he placed both hands flat at his sides and started sitting with Merlin still on his chest. “We should hurry.”

Merlin grimaced and without the laughter, this time. He knew that Arthur was returning to his old rush, charge and taskmaster self. He could not say that he actually hated the rigorous routine. It had garnered him tremendous results. However, he still preferred their lazy post-celebration pace.

Moving on instincts, they slid into what Merlin considered the evil position. Face to face with their butts flat on the blanket, Merlin lapped his slender thighs over Arthur’s thicker ones. Shifting in unison while opening their breeches, they aligned their organs side-by-side. A small consolation, Merlin found that he could grip Arthur’s shoulders or bury his head against his neck when his pains became too great.

The taskmaster he was, Arthur quickly oiled his hands and wrapped them around both their organs. “Ready,” he asked, while he gazed into Merlin’s now nervous face.

“Ready,” he nodded.

Together, they started a slow and easy trust into the slick oval that his hands created. All the while, Arthur peered up at his face to determine how hard to squeeze his hands.

Merlin kept nodding. Tighter. Tighter. Soon, he gripped Arthur’s shoulders as his breathing grew ragged. Still, he nodded. Finally, he started panting and buried his head against Arthur’s neck…

Arthur came first. Close behind, Merlin rode his rippling waves as Arthur’s liquid heat bombarded his base. Flinging his head back in what seemed a never-ending agony, Merlin yelled out. With his own painful waves still rippling through his loins, his head fell again, seeking Arthur’s strong shoulder for comfort.

“That was good, Merlin. Really good,” he murmured soothing words against his temple while gently cupping his sac. With cautious fingertips, as Gaius had instructed, he pressed into both sides of Merlin’s groins, massaging his tender fibers.

After a while, Merlin unburied his head. Forcing a smile through the pain, he joked, “I can’t wait for the time when this becomes enjoyable.” 

His courageous efforts surprised Arthur into a sympathetic laughter. “Another month and you’ll be chasing every skirt in Camelot.”

Except one, Merlin thought, as they prepared to leave. Arthur’s reaction at the mention of Guinevere’s name had not escaped him. Once they reached the lower town, they split up, as usual. Arthur quickly sought his father to discuss the beast and Merlin returned to his bed for a bit more rest. In the early morning hour, Merlin eased pass Lancelot, still asleep on his floor. Less than an hour later, however, his friend Lancelot was in Uther's dungeons. 

*** 

***

***

***************************

Arthur was worried. Whenever his mind became unsettled, he stood in his window and gazed upon Camelot’s subjects. An industrious, purposeful people, they moved about their daily lives carrying wash baskets or water buckets, unloading food wagons, tending the buildings, the horses… They made Arthur proud to be their prince and someday, their king. 

The reason for his worry suddenly scurried across the square toward the main gate and with an herb sack slung over his shoulder. Arthur nodded to himself. He then turned and scurried, too. Stealing opportunity in Merlin’s absence, he went see Gaius.

The physician was opening his door and ready to leave. “Sire,” he said, taken aback to find him standing and ready to enter.

“I'm sorry, Gaius,” he apologized for inadvertently startling the old man. “If you could spare a moment?” 

Gaius read concern on his face and while nodding, he went to a table and rested his medicine satchel. “I’ve been meaning to speak with you, as well,” he said.

“Merlin,” Arthur guessed. He was somehow convinced that their topics were the same.

“I can see that you’re worried about him, too,” Gaius reasoned. 

Arthur took a bench at the table while sharing his worry. “Gaius, he's endured so much but I fear that he may be ready to give up.”

Gaius nodded, again. “I’ve noticed the change in him, myself. A couple of weeks ago, he was filled with such hope. He rose, eager to meet with you, each morning. Now, I must rise first and practically roust him from bed.”

Arthur was at a loss to understand the setback. “I thought that we were making remarkable progress,”

“And now, that progress seems to have stopped,” he surmised and with another suspecting head nod.

"But if you suspected," Arthur deduced, looking anxiously at him to learn the reason. “then, you must know the cause?”

“I’m afraid so," he sighed. "Only, I had hopes that I was wrong. For Merlin’s sake.”

“Gaius,” he insisted to hear the unwelcomed news.

"Arthur," he said as he frowned with hesitancy while slowly sitting. “I fear that Merlin may still give up once he learns what is required to continue.” 

***

In their cave, Merlin sat on the blanket. Huddled with knees drawn, he was unwilling to start as he watched Arthur move about the small space first drinking from the pitcher then lifting an apple and then a piece of bread but deciding he wanted neither. Arthur seemed more reluctant to start than himself. Pitifully, he asked, “Arthur, what good will it do for us to continue? Maybe, it just wasn’t meant to be.”

Arthur was suddenly stunned. He turned and stared down at Merlin with his face furrowing in disbelief. “Then, Gaius hasn’t spoken to you,” he demanded to know.

“Spoken to me? About what?”

Arthur's furrow deepened. He wanted to cuss Gaius for leaving the difficult task to him. Wiping his sweat-soaked hair from his morning jog from his face, he exhaled. “Perhaps, Gaius thought it wiser to leave the decision to us.”

“What decision,” he insisted that Arthur stop beating around the bush.

“Well,” he started, still furrowing, but now unable to look at Merlin. “Gaius is convinced that we’ve hit a brick wall because we’re not massaging all of your fibers. We can reach the lower ones by pressing into your groins. He believes the uppers fibers is where the problem lies.” 

“Upper fibers," he insisted again that Arthur explain. "It feels like the daggers are everywhere. How do we know where these fibers are?”

Arthur almost muttered his answer. “Gaius said that we’d know once we hit something called a prostate gland. He said that the vesicle, um, the seminal fibers, sit atop it.” 

“But how do we even reach,” he started asking but abruptly he stopped as the answer became apparent to him. He huddled tighter and Arthur had an immediate thirst for more water. After a long moment of awkward silence, Merlin gave a solution. “I’ll massage them, myself, after you’ve gone.” 

Arthur contradicted his solution with a shake of his head. "Merlin," he started but still unable to look at him, he took several more gulps before he explained. “Perhaps, if your fingers were five or six inches long.” Then mustering his courage, he finally forced his gaze down at Merlin and announced, pointblank. “Gaius left us to decide whether I penetrate you or not.”

Merlin whirled his face up at Arthur as it blushed and went slack. “I see,” he said.


	8. Damn You, Destiny

Arthur sat on a far corner of the blanket. He turned away from Merlin while giving him the personal space to decide. Loose dirt all around, he took a hand full and watched it sift through his fingers. After a dozen sifts, he finally said, “Merlin, I realize that you have a lot to consider.” However, he needed to know for certain that Merlin truly understood what was at stake. Now was not the time to insinuate that Merlin was an idiot and he said, “I'm sure that you're aware of Camelot’s laws. Like most of the kingdoms once controlled by the Roman Empire, our laws state that any man who willingly lets himself be penetrated will lose the protection and esteem afforded a freeman. If discovered, you could be purchased a slave, since only slaves, prostitutes or the infames engage in such activities. And even if purchased, you'd still be slandered a moral deviant or a pathicus or even a catamite,”

“A catamite, Arthur," he objected, but for conversation, alone. "You're no older than I am," he said and then went silent, again. Lost deep in thought, he did not consider himself a child or Arthur some old dominant pedophile. Slandered a catamite was the least of his worries. 

Arthur looked at him and finding anxiety growing on his face, he sought humor. “I’m quite a bit older than you. More than two years.” 

Merlin did not laugh. Instead, he gazed about the dark and shadowy walls while wondering if the small cave could forever bury such an enormous secret. Had destiny with all of its promises finally said, 'enough?' Would no more be given? Was destiny rebuking his vow to feel as Arthur felt? Was it saying choose, young warlock? Choose wisely. High praise or hellish slander? A new world or a carnal knowledge? Freedom or love?… 

“It’s so unfair,” Merlin uttered. 

“And still, the political laws that govern our morality,” Arthur uttered, too, in reply.

Merlin slowly turned his gaze and settled it upon him. Maybe, the choice did not belong to him. Maybe, Arthur was not willing to associate with a self-effeminizing deviant. He had to know and he asked, “Arthur, if I said yes, would you think me immoral?”

The question flashed anger across Arthur’s brow. He gathered quickly to his knees and readily violated his personal space. “Immoral,” he demanded. “To yearn what should be every man’s birthright!” He grabbed Merlin by his shoulders and started shaking him. “Never! Until I am king, I cannot change Camelot’s laws nor hope to challenge the morality in men’s hearts. But I promise you this! If you choose to go forth, I will stand by you, whatever the future decides!”

More accurate, whatever destiny decides, Merlin thought as he sat speechless while trying not to grimace at the tight shoulder grips. He feared his choice and yet, he courageously challenged destiny with a smile. Glancing at the strong hands digging into his shoulders, he joked, “I guess, being your catamite will be no worse than being your manservant.” 

The shoulder glances made Arthur aware of his forceful hold on them. Letting go, he laughed, “a catamite? But I’m no older than you are.”

“By more than two years,” he continued their contradictory and lighthearted humor to help lessen his fears. Suddenly, he was not so lighthearted as he admitted, “Arthur, I want this. No. I need this. I fear what will become of me if I quit now.” 

“I know,” he nodded that he understood. Then smiling again at Merlin’s courageous decision, he promised, “And you shall have it.” 

Their decision made, Arthur started issuing orders like the king that he was destined to be. “Today, you must speak with Gaius," he instructed. "Inform him of our intent.” As he spoke, he sat back and started pulling Merlin’s thighs across his own, moving them into the evil position. “Obtain from him any oils or medicines we may need. Also, undergo the required preparations for my penetration. Tomorrow morning, we go forth.” While he planned, he searched Merlin’s face for confirmation. He also searched it to determine how tight to squeeze their now aligned organs.

With continuous nods, Merlin answered both of Arthur’s unspoken questions. Soon, he threw back his head with cries of agony. Again, his face slumped against Arthur’s neck but the tears he shed were more from fear mixed with relief. Fear, that he was challenging destiny but relief, that Arthur would be at his side.

*** 

Uther Pendragon often found himself watching his son. Two months of running had truly defined his muscle tone, Uther admired. An undeniable man, now, Arthur had lost all traces of boyhood. Over dinner at the main table, Uther tried not to anxiously ask, “Arthur, have you reached a decision on this running regimen for all of my knights. It seems to have worked wonders for you.”

“Um,” he hesitated.

Lucky for him, Morgana spoke up. “Sire, you’re right," she said. "Arthur is looking handsome, indeed, these days. His new morning routine seems to have even cleared his complexion.” 

A dubious compliment, Arthur didn't know whether to thank her or not. Instead, he turned to his father. “Not quite,” he admitted, while trying to stay calm. He certainly couldn’t say that Merlin needed more time. With quick thought, he answered, “I’ve discovered that running in boots can be somewhat hard on the feet. If you have no objections, I’d like to commission twenty dozen softer leather shoes for the purpose. The tanners and shoemakers could certainly use the business and in three weeks, perhaps a month, I’ll send out the first group and monitor their progress.” 

“Three weeks!” Uther frowned. “If you can run in boots for eight then surely they can, for three, until this special footwear is crafted. If that’s the only drawback that you can conclude then I want them to start, immediately.” 

“But father,” 

“Then, you have other reservations with this running regimen of yours,” he asked, logically, wondering his hesitation. 

Arthur quickly spoke, "No, father," to prevent further questions. “I’ll schedule the first group, um, this week,” he assured the king despite the consequences. Another setback, he imagined a battalion of knights running about the morning countryside. Just how was he going to deliver the devastating news to Merlin, he wondered while picking at his meal. 

Uther continued to watch him but with concern on his brow. Arthur might look the man but in chronological years, he was still little more than a boy. Not old enough to be his legal regent if he should fall ill. Perhaps, he was placing too many responsibilities upon his son's young shoulders and the reason that Arthur hesitated to assume another. Uther remembered that Arthur already commanded his border wars and bandit raids, trained the knights, scheduled the guard, supervised Camelot’s fields, investigated crimes, hunted witches… 

Enough, for now, Uther decided. This new task, he would give to one of his senior knights. Sir Tomas, he recalled, seemed often resentful that Arthur had assumed so many of his responsibilities. With one masterful stroke, Uther planned to benefit both his son and Sir Tomas. In the process, he would smooth the older knight's ruffled feathers. After dinner, Uther summoned Sir Tomas to his chambers.

After dinner, Arthur sat in his own. Quiet all evening, he thought that his plan for an alternate location to constantly penetrate Merlin resembled the tavern’s dartboard. So many holes, he had no faith in it. And no faith, he hesitated to share his plan but justified instead that Merlin had enough worries already. This one could wait. At least, until Merlin had undergone his first penetration.

Merlin was equally quiet and distant. Arthur’s hesitant demeanor left him wary. He moped about the chambers preparing his bath, sharpening his swords and shoving his clean laundry into his wardrobe, convinced that Arthur was having doubts about their endeavor.

With Arthur hesitant and Merlin convinced, they shared nothing.

Not until the next morning in the cave. Merlin still moped about while lighting candles and fetching fresh river water. He carried the pitcher to the back wall, squatted and finally braved to say, “Arthur, I know that you’re having reservations. I understand.” 

“No reservations,” he answered, absentmindedly while slowly unfastening his breeches. His thoughts were still on his alternate location. He wondered how to sell the old tower to Merlin when he had not bought it, himself. 

Still squatting, Merlin checked the baskets for decaying fruit or moldy bread. Without raising his head, he casually stated, “Gaius mentioned a noble lady’s ‘friend’ that I might try.”

Arthur lost hold of his breeches and they fell around his ankles. “A priapus,” he almost shouted and he stared incredulously at Merlin’s hunched and squatted form. “Did Gaius also tell you that those things are made of wood, um, um, cypress! Or even iron!” 

Merlin looked up at him, surprised. “Then, you know what a lady’s friend is," he asked. 

Arthur tried to sound mature and worldy. “I’ve had privy to see a few.”

“A few," he exclaimed and in a tone that questioned Arthur's own morality.

The shock in his voice made Arthur quickly redirect. “Thanks to Morgana.” 

Merlin shrieked, "The Lady Morgana?" He couldn't help but now imagine what the two were doing with a 'few' dildos.

“It’s not what you think,” Arthur stammered in his rush to explain. “Our ladies are often widowed from battle. When we were growing up, Morgana would sneak into their chambers searching for ‘friends’ and then bring them to show me. Mainly, for shock purposes.”

Merlin's own shock didn't subside as he tilted his head to re-imagine. To him, Morgana had always seemed the most innocent and the most irreproachable of Camelot’s nobility. That image was now changing. “I guess it would be shocking to see handmade imitations of your own privates,” he said and then returned to his original statement. “Gaius said that he could obtain one for me.”

Arthur shook his head, still objecting. “I can’t believe that Gaius would suggest such a hard remedy for your tender ailment,” he said when suddenly he stopped and glared down at Merlin, again. "Unless you told him that I have reservations! Merlin, I don’t have reservations," he insisted. "What I do have is a problem! Father! He insists that I start the knights’ running regimen in a few days. The cave will no longer be safe. Not with hordes of Camelot’s finest traipsing about the countryside, mornings, noon or night.”

Merlin frowned to hear the news. He started to curse destiny aloud. After a moment, he took a deep breath and calmly defied it, instead. “We’ll just have to think of something else between now and then,” he said. In his defiance, he stood and started removing his beeches, as well.

 

Sir Tomas relished being in charge, again, if only to order Sir Leon to roust the single knights out of their barracks at the crack of dawn. It was no secret that Sir Tomas did not care much for Sir Leon. He thought the junior knight put too much faith in their mostly untested young prince. 

Half an hour after rising, Sir Tomas had his first group of thirty suited in full armor and in parade formation, standing in the courtyard. With a forward wave of his hand, he started running, leading them toward the river with Sir Leon second in command. The old knight set a brutal, ill-advised pace to prove that he still had vigor and worth.

In the cave, Arthur continuously kneaded Merlin’s back. Unable to see his face, he hesitated, pleading again, “Let me know if it becomes too painful for you.”

Long weary of his procrastination, Merlin sighed to exhale his tenth deep breath. Already in pain from his growing arousal, he tried to relax for the penetration. Sarcastic, he replied, “Arthur, I think that my daggers will tell you, soon enough.” 

“In that case, perhaps I should stretch you a bit more,” he suggested although his own organ ached for attention while practically guiding itself to its destination.

“Arthur, please. Just do it,” he insisted.

“Well, now. We are the little sexual deviant, aren’t we,” he muttered in defense while trying to make light the legal implication. Then nervously positioning himself, he said, “here goes.”

Merlin let out a final relaxing breath.

The first touch left them shuddering. Suddenly, all volition was lost as Arthur slide completely inside him. A force greater than both seemed to take over, radiating heat and desire like ripples waving through their legs, chest, arms… 

Merlin cried out, "Arthur!"

“Merlin,” he matched his shrill.

Beneath the ground in another cave, miles away, a large scaly reptile smiled and then contently rested its head upon its folded leathery wing.

“Arthur," Merlin cried out, again, as a debilitating agony wrapped inside a total bliss overwhelmned him. He began to cry and laugh, at the same time. Destiny was not so cruel, after all, he realized, as he sensed their souls being melded, like two sides of a coin.

Arthur cried, too. "Merlin, Merlin," he said, unable to comprehend. All he knew was that he had felt Merlin’s agony and now, he was feeling his incredible bliss. In his mind’s eye, he saw golden sparks flashing like lightning, booming like thunder… What was happening was beyond him. He didn’t realize that he was feeling Merlin’s magic or that he was sharing the courage, aspirations and hopes that embodied… Emrys.

 

Sir Leon refused to be bested by a grumpy old man no matter how hard Sir Tomas tried. In a long-legged stride, he reached the riverbank first with Sir Tomas huffing at his heels. Both arrived and doubled over, gasping for air. Finally, some of the younger men started to clear the trees while others stretched a mile behind. Mostly, the older knights lagged and straggled. They would not be intimidated by Sir Tomas’ ridiculous pace. 

Sir Leon suddenly moved closer to the water with ears alert like a trained pointer. “Shhh,” he said. 

“What is it,” Sir Tomas insisted, and with his hand moving automatically to his pommel. 

Sir Leon was already picking his way along the muddy bank toward the overhanging rocks. “I’m not sure," he said. "It sounds like yelling and screaming, coming from upriver.”

Amid the noise of whooshing water, Sir Tomas heard the faint sounds, too. “Human,” he asked, following, just as some of the other knights were reaching the riverbank. They were heaving and dropping to the ground like stones in their heavy chain mail. 

Sir Leon and Sir Tomas continued, stalking around the river bend toward the sounds. Swords now drawn, Sir Leon reached the small cave first. With only the top of his head visible, he peered inside. What he saw bulged his eyes. Prince Arthur and his manservant were practically naked. And locked together at their loins.

One side of Merlin's face lay pressed into the blanket with his hands clawing at the dirt. In his most strangely blissful but painful session yet, he yelled and screamed as Arthur grunted and groaned, almost as loud. In his own blissful agony, Arthur struggled desperately to deny his orgasm. With hands clawed like Merlin's in his failing efforts to rub soothing circles upon Merlin's back, he aimed relentlessly at the tender fibers atop his prostate.

Leon continued to stare. 

Seconds later, Arthur and Merlin were startled in the middle of their grueling endeavor. A loud splash made them look toward the cave's entrance. Nothing was there.


	9. Sir Leon

Arthur landed on his derriere a second time. Often caught off guard, he was hearing bits and pieces of murmured and disgruntled conversations coming from all over the training field. The malcontent seemed centered around some ridiculously brutal running pace. A pace that Sir Tomas had set while leading them to the river that very morning.

Arthur battled a few recruits as well as his anxiety while he strained his ears to listen for keywords like cave or yelling or Merlin or himself or sex…

Knocked down a third time, Arthur was more unnerved when what seemed a shrewdly smiling face suddenly stood over him. Sir Leon reached down, lending a hand. “Sire, you seem a bit distracted, today,” he said and with what Arthur perceived to be a little devilish grin as if Sir Leon secretly knew the cause. The young knight offered, “I’ll finish the training session if you have no objections.” 

Anxiety being a leader’s liability, Arthur hardened his facial expression as Sir Leon pulled him to his feet. “Thank you,” he said in a quick gratitude. Without delay, Arthur stuck his blade in the ground and with his head held high, he marched off the field. 

Striding to his chambers, Arthur didn't stop until he reached his window. All the while, images of Merlin yelling in pain or balled and hurting in the cave flashed like fire, flickering in his mind. Amid the flames loomed Sir Leon’s devilish little grin as shadowy figures with unknown faces stood in the background and murmured their condemnations. Arthur closed his eyes a moment and tried to shake his living nightmare. What was happening, he wondered, now staring down at the cobblestone. How could everything go so horribly wrong and so fast… 

As his mind started to calm, his thoughts grew clearer. "Father," he muttered to himself. Apparently, his father had started the running regimen and without a word to him. Now, Merlin faced the prospect of slavery, sold a moral deviant, a pathicus or a catamite and to a lesser kingdom’s court. With all probability, back to Mercia and even to Cendred, himself.

Arthur continued to gaze out over the courtyard. He imagined Merlin scurrying across it, a free and innocent man with an herb sack slung over his shoulder. The thought of Merlin sold to Cendred was like a sword piercing his gut. Arthur knew the fault belonged to himself, as well as his father. His own brave and inspirational vow to stand by Merlin no matter the future had been a hollow promise and a cruel lie. He had no powers to keep Merlin safe or keep the devilish grins or the shadowy figures or the fires of Hades, itself, from consuming Merlin. 

Angered by the prospect, Arthur paced to hasten a plan. If his father did indeed sell Merlin, he would buy him back! Then, he would escape Merlin far from Camelot! Northumbia would take a fortnight to reach but it lacked the moral rigidity of the southern kingdoms. Merlin could live there a free man and still undergo the necessary treatments to cure his rare affliction.

Abruptly, Arthur stopped pacing as he felt his anger die. Killed, by another piercing sword. This blade hit his heart as he realized that he would not be the one to cure Merlin's ailment.

Feeling fatally wounded, he started changing for court council.

Once seated in the prince’s chair beside the king, Arthur again concealed his anxiety. Stoic on the outside, he was terrified, deep within. Today, the hall had forty knights when normally a handful found reason to come. Like the shadowy faces of hell, the men stood in the distance while murmuring their condemnations. The hall then fell silent to echoing footsteps and Arthur felt the flames increase. Growing sweaty, he watched Sir Leon march center floor.

Seldom one to speak up, Leon never glanced at Arthur. With unprecedented urgency, he addressed the king. Bluntly, he stated, “My lord, I wish to discuss the knights’ new running regimen.”

Arthur felt a slight breeze suddenly enter hell. At the same time, Sir Leon was silent a moment, anticipating Sir Tomas’ objection. After all, he was overstepping the senior knight’s authority.

As expected, Sir Tomas was already rushing forward, defending, “Sire, I find this discussion premature. Sir Leon is a fine young knight, however, youth errs his judgment. He has expressed no concerns to me, and thus, he violates the chain of command. Grievances must first be brought to my attention and I assure you, my lord, that each will be handled wisely.”

Low grumbles from the shadowy faces told Uther otherwise. He gazed sternly over the hall, silencing their murmurs. Apparent to the king, something was amiss with Sir Tomas’ running methods. With a single headnod bidding Sir Leon to continue, he said “A simple discussion seems a reasonable request.” 

Sir Tomas begrudgingly bowed, moving backward as Sir Leon prefaced, “Sire,” while seeking diplomacy. “An excellent program, your new running regimen, but one that must be handled with caution. This morning, four of our fellow knights reported to the court physician with foot or leg injury. We understand that stamina is the goal we strive to achieve but sire, we must not be expected to achieve that goal in one day. To minimize injury, I suggest that we proceed with a gradual approach. One-third the distance to the river and back the first two weeks. Two-thirds the distance, the following two weeks. In six weeks, all of the knight should be able to reach the riverbank and return, in full armor, with little or no difficulty.”

Sir Leon purposely paused. He allowed the king to hear clearly the murmurs of approval. At the same time, he could almost feel Sir Tomas’ eyes burrowing a hole into his back. Retaliation would be harsh, Leon expected but perhaps less harsh, with the knights on his side. Maybe, no retaliation at all, and he finally looked at Arthur.

The prince had sat forward in his chair. Casually wiping the last sweat from his palms on his thighs, he was following Leon's strategy with the utmost attention. The hard countenance designed to disguise his anxiety had softened, considerably.

Uther raised his hand for quiet and Leon summed “Sire, your new running routine will benefit us all and we will gladly run, with honor and with pride.” 

Nodding, Uther dismissed him with the assurance, “You will have my decision before the morning.” 

 

As council adjourned, Arthur lingered a moment and thanked his father despite his sole decision to start the program. He knew the king owed him no explanation. However, he surmised and he said, “One less responsibility on my shoulders.” Then, with his own little smile, he slyly suggested, “but an excellent one for a promising young knight. Sir Leon made some very good points.”

Uther snorted at his son’s wily hint. Of one mind, he added, “However, I think Sir Tomas will not be pleased.”

“Perhaps, lead delegate to Northumbia would lessen his anger,” Arthur further suggested while standing to leave. He had been watching the activities in the hallway. The knights seemed finished with their congratulatory pats to Leon’s back. “Father, you did promise King Eldred strategic assistance against the Norse invaders.”

“Indeed, I did. Such an appointment would save face, for all involved,” Uther concurred while gazing upon Arthur's back as he walked away. Left surprised and proud, Uther smiled that his son had the makings of a true politician. 

 

In a casual stride, Arthur followed Sir Leon to his chambers. He assumed that Merlin was back by now and cleaning his own. Not a good place for discussion, he saw no need for Merlin to know that the fires of Hades had blazed around him, unless they still smoldered. He went to find out. 

Sir Leon knew Arthur followed. He stood inside his door while holding it open for him. “Sire,” he greeted and then closed the door behind Arthur.

With a glance over his shoulder, Arthur asked, “Would a thank-you be presumptuous,” implying if Sir Leon had another motive.

The young knight beckoned him toward the only chair in his sparsely furnished room. He then took a seat on his bed. “What I did in court council, I did for the knights," he confessed. "What I witnessed in the cave seemed no cause for thank-you.”

Arthur remained silent and motionless, letting him speak. Apparently, Sir Leon had given the matter considerable thought.

Taking his inference, Leon continued, “I won’t fathom a guess as to what was occurring in the cave and nor will I ask since I’m convinced that it was not an enjoyable endeavor. Being both unpleasant and illegal and yet you, and particularly Merlin, felt the need to undertake it, I assumed that it must have been very important to you.”

Arthur nodded but offered no explanation. Instead, he returned to his initial question. “Then, a thank-you is in order,” he said.

“But perhaps, unearned,” Sir Leon corrected him and with a frown to convey the rest. “Sir Tomas may expose you, still.” Leon saw alarm escaping its restraint in Arthur’s eyes and he quickly add, “He never saw inside the cave. However, I’m afraid that he heard everything. My tale, concerning a nest of great cormorants squawking over a breakfast catch was not very convincing. Even less convincing was that one flew toward my face and caused me to stumble backward, which sent him sprawling into the river.”

“The splash,” Arthur uttered. “We concluded it to be a falling rock.”

“In his chain mail, he dropped like one,” Leon tried not to laugh. “Thank the heavens for that log a quarter-kilometer downstream or I’d be confessing to murder.”

Arthur nodded, struggling not to laugh with him. Setting his face like stone, he managed to retain his decorum. However, the image was priceless. “And now, you fear retaliation,” he guessed.

Leon warily admitted, “I’m afraid so, sire.” He expected his life to become a living hell after beating Sir Tomas to the riverbank, pushing him into the water and then besting him again in court council.

At the same time, Arthur was considering Leon to be his most trusted knight. He offered a compromise. “Your suggestions in council have earned you the knights’ respect. Such respect warrants promotion. I’ll ask father to place you over the running program.” He already had. “If you adhere to your own recommendations and keep the knights away from the riverbank for six weeks, I’ll keep Sir Tomas off your back.” He had already accomplished that, too.

Leon shrewdly smiled again and then rose, extending his hand. “It’s a deal.”


	10. A New Virility

Merlin was exuberant. The daggers no longer stabbed at his loins. Thanks to Arthur, his pains were completely gone. More than exuberant, he was positively enthralled and captivated by his newfound ability. Like a cherished present from Arthur, he couldn’t help but play with his new toy, every chance he got.

Each morning before rising, he pulled it out, now braving to learn its changing shapes and sizes. Three, four times a day, he found a secluded spot in the castle and sat, rubbing and petting his priceless present. Nighttime, in bed, he tested its maximum performance and admired its seismic quakes. Often times, he lay awake all night, constantly urging its volcanic eruptions while marveling the heat it radiated within him. Finally, he knew how Arthur felt and he was mesmerized.

Arthur was ecstatic for him. He felt as though he had given Merlin the world. Whenever he saw a gleam enter Merlin’s eyes, he knew that Merlin was feeling his newfound virility. The gleam, however, was never a welcomed sight to Arthur. Envious of its meaning, he found that it accompanied a growing list of excuses from Merlin.

Anticipating another, Arthur sat at his desk while Merlin finished making his bed. He pretended to read while he started a silent count, “One, two, three, fou…”

“Arthur, if you have need of nothing else, right now,” Merlin asked, already easing toward the door. His face was jubilant in his hurry to go.

Arthur kept his eyes on his scroll. He didn’t need to look up to see the telltale gleam in Merlin’s eyes. He could clearly hear the anxious delight in his voice. “Where are you off to, this time,” he asked, forcing delight in his own tone.

“Um, the servants are gathering for Cookie’s twenty-year kitchen celebration.”

“Twenty years,” Arthur repeated. He tried to sound surprised by how fast time flies. “I’ve known Cookie all of my life. Be sure to bring me a piece of her cake,” he consented to Merlin leaving with a smile. Although he granted permission, he kept his head down, knowing that his smile had failed, again.

“Of course, Arthur,” Merlin promised while rushing out.

As he left, Arthur sighed. At least, Merlin had volunteered no excuse this time, he thought. Instead, he had to ask Merlin where he was going. Apparently, the excuse to run errands for Gaius had gotten old to Merlin, too. So many excuses, Merlin had scraped the bottom of the barrel. Arthur huffed to himself as he recalled some of his classics. “…Arthur, I believe that your stables need mucking," Merlin once said. Or, "… Arthur, Gwen wants me to wear Morgana’s new dress, while she sews the hem." Or, "… Arthur, Lydia's cat is loose in the square, again…”

Arthur sighed, again. Lately, the excuses had gotten so silly that Merlin had obviously concluded it wiser to offer none, at all. Besides, they never really disguised his true reason for rushing out. Both knew that his charade was up, weeks ago. Truth was, Merlin was on the prowl.

But what else had he expected, Arthur asked himself. He set out to help cure Merlin's rare affliction and he had accomplished his goal. Merlin was no longer confined to the cave or to him and now had the freedom to move about Camelot like every other hot-blooded young man.

Every other hot-blooded young man except himself, Arthur accepted, aware that he wallowed in self-pity. After all the heartache, the time, the energy and dare he say, the love, that he had given to Merlin, he had received nothing in return, except of course, his uninterrupted morning ritual. Masturbating again, he had returned to watching the lovely procession pass. Only now, it lacked the enthusiasm, the chemistry and the sense of purpose that Merlin had given him. He missed their intimate moments together. He missed Merlin.

As Arthur sat at his desk, he felt his wallowing melancholy become almost unbearable. He rose with hopes that a hunt with Sir Leon would lift his spirits. It was simply unhealthy to sit moping and feeling sorry for himself. He knew that he had to face facts and accept reality. And reality was, Merlin no longer had need of him.


	11. Like a Lamb to the Slaughter

Sir Leon startled as Arthur turned the corner and entered the knight's hallway. "Sire," he said, surprised by the prince's visit. In a quick motion, Leon propelled his back off the wall just as Lady Harames’ oldest daughter, Othein, released her embrace and turned from the prince while discreetly wiping her mouth.

Arthur cleared his throat, implying apology for his intrusion. The two had obviously been kissing and necking.

Leon stammered in his rush to speak. “Did, um, you wish to see me, sire,” he asked.

Apparent to Arthur, his potential hunting partner had other game on his mind and of the two-legged kind. Somewhat amazed by Leon’s choice in women, Arthur had always considered Lady Othein to be an incredibly quiet and shy girl. And big. Very big. Her hands and feet were larger than most men. Arthur suspected that she could beat those same men at arm wresting. But then, Leon was a big fellow, too. Arthur imagined their humongous offspring as he offered another reason for coming. “Any running injuries, today,” he asked.

“Um, none, Sire.”

“Good job,” he nodded and then continued down the corridor. Walking back to his lonely chambers, his gloom begin to creep again when suddenly he felt sunshine on his face. “Guinevere,” he greeted, happily approaching.

She had just exited Morgana’s door. A basket filed with crumpled clothes in her arms, she headed for the laundry. “My lord,” she greeted with a smile, but her route took her in the opposite direction. As she walked by him, leaving, she could literally feel a gloom rising from his spirit. It made her stop and search for conversation. His favorite pastime came to mind and she recommended, “A find afternoon for a hunt, sire.”

“Funny, you should mention that,” he spoke, smiling as his gloom begin to fade, again. “The thought had just crossed my mind.” Aware that she headed for the laundry, he politely beckoned his head in that direction, offering to escort her.

Guinevere nodded to accept his chivalrous offer. Casually strolling, she sought a subject that lately held her own concern. “I suppose that you’ll be taking Merlin with you,” she asked.

Her question jogged his memory and he glanced at her wash basket. “Aren’t you joining him and the others for Cookie’s celebration?”

She noticed that he glanced at her basket. “Oh, this," she said. "I’ll have it finished and long before nightfall.”

“Nightfall,” he asked her. A bit confused but he was not very surprised.

“Did Merlin tell you, differently,” she deduced from his confusion, and with a tinge of anger mixed with concern in her voice.

Arthur pried, “Why do you assume that?”

“Because he's been confusing me, too,” she exclaimed. Noticeably irritated, she worried for Merlin. “He’s been acting so strange, of late. The other maidservants are gossiping and even making fun of him.” However, she stopped, hesitant to speak and she looked at Arthur, waiting for his permission to continue.

“Oh, please,” he quickly nodded.

Guinevere was more than grateful to shed her dander. She started an exhaustive monologue. “Merlin has changed, so. He’s not the same gentle, endearing person that I first met. Now, he walks around as if his mind is lost elsewhere and I blush to say, perpetually below his waist. He gets this look in his eyes and I blush again to say, a very horny look and without warning, out of his mouth spew the most inappropriate comments…” 

Arthur widened his eyes at her frank and gritty words but Guinevere took a deep breath and barreled on. “Don’t get me wrong. The other maidservants say that they find this new Merlin adorable but at the same time, they’re calling him silly, immature and even hilarious. At first, I refused to believe the things they were saying about him, until I started to hear them with my own ears.”

She took another breath and continued. “Last week, near the kitchens, I overheard him ask Lydia if she wanted to spring his jack-in-the-box. Arthur, I haven’t heard a boy say that phrase, in ages. It’s as if Merlin is twelve years old again and is just discovering that he has a manhood. Tess claims that he coaxed her into a window cove. She was expecting a kiss from his luscious lips, but instead, he pulled her hair and while staring down her bosom, asked if he could have a slice of melon. According to Portia, he tried the oldest prank in the books, by daring her to turn cartwheels. In her skirt!”

Again, she stopped only to breathe. “They’re calling Merlin a simpleton and that he lacks the tact or the etiquette to approach a grown woman. He doesn't seem to have the basic skills, which he should have learned while growing up. Instead, one would think that he spent his entire life in a monastery or in a cave and then, suddenly dropped into the female population. What angers me most is that I believe Merlin is still very honest and sincere but somehow terrified and all the while, they’re laughing, gossiping and making fun of him…”

The more she shed her dander, the more Arthur’s heart ached for Merlin. How perceptive she was, he thought, to say that Merlin seemed recently released from a cave. It never occurred to him that Merlin's affliction had caused him to miss the basic skills of courtship, always too frightened that he might succeed. Now, he was like a lamb among she-wolves and apparently getting eaten alive. Suddenly, Arthur felt a renewed sense of purpose.

As they approached a flight of stairs, he absentmindedly patted Guinevere on the shoulder and turned, leaving.

“Arthur,” she asked, hoping that she had not overburdened him.

“Um, thank you, Guinevere,” he answered, noticeably distracted while walking way. “You can rest assured. I’ll have a long and discreet talk with Merlin. Today.”


	12. Finding love

Arthur had no real experience with women, either. Still, he took pride in his flirting techniques thanks to a lifetime of banquets and feasts. The royal ladies professed him to be quite charming. Since maidservants and commoners were women, too, he reasoned that any man should simply treat a woman like royalty and he could not go wrong.

With that premise in mind, Arthur sat at his desk writing his lecture to Merlin. If he had learned little else as crown prince of Camelot, preparation was vital. Like any speech, he needed key phrases that would command an audience’s attention. In this case, Merlin’s attention. While jotting his talking points he debated which tone he should use.

Should he be gruff, as was his nature with Merlin: “You, imbecile! You’re making a complete arse of yourself!”

Or sympathetic: “Merlin, I understand that your affliction has left you somewhat inexperienced in the subtleties of romance.”

Aloof and questioning: “Merlin, now that your pains are gone, how are you fairing with the fairer sex?”

Buddy, buddy, nod-nod-wink with a punch on the arm: “You little cupid, you. I wager, many a woman’s heart has been pierced with your arrow, by now.”

Maybe cynical: “When you come crying to me claiming that none are yours, should I believe you?”

Perhaps, approach a twelve year old as Guinevere had so aptly put: “Been carving notches on your belt, have you, keeping tally of the skirts that you’ve been under?”

Better still, be truthful: “Merlin, some very awkward rumors have reached my ears…”

His decision made, Arthur turned his chair toward the window. He leaned back and rested his boots on the window sash. Losing himself in thought, he silently accepted that teaching Merlin to romance a woman would separate them, forever. A smile warred with his melancholy as he imagined a host of little Merlins aggravating him, too.

Arthur glanced up at the sky. Dinner was still two hours away but if he had to wait that long for Merlin to return, he would. Despite his own sense of loss, Merlin’s welfare was much too important to delay his lecture another day.

Arthur had almost dozed when a knock at his door made him jerk. Disoriented at first, he finally answered, “Come.” As he stood and turned his chair around, he acknowledged, “Gaius,” with apprehension in his voice.

The old man continued toward his desk. Initially silent, he twiddled a dagger-sized wooden box in his hands as he approached. Close enough, he glanced down, inadvertently noting Arthur’s scribbled talking points. On his face, Gaius wore the expression of someone struggling to approach an awkward topic, as well. 

Arthur furrowed at bit at his hesitation. “Merlin,” he assumed with efforts to help Gaius along while staring at the box he fiddled.

“Then, words of his shenanigans have reached you, too,” he asked.

“I’m afraid so,” Arthur wearily admitted and then slumped down in his chair. “But I blame myself, Gaius. I simply didn’t realize. When most boys where starting to flock to girls, Merlin’s illness probably had him running in the opposite direction. I should have anticipated his inexperience.”

“Arthur, the fault is not yours,” he corrected him. “I've noticed his immaturity, myself, and I've tried to counsel him. For my efforts, he accuses me of being much too old, completely out of touch and grossly inadequate in the art of wooing a lover.”

Arthur smirked, implying both gratitude and agreement. It was true. He shouldn’t feel guilty. Merlin had never sought his advice but had conjured up every excuse imaginable to keep his activities a secret. “Rest assured, Gaius," he said. "I’ll include his low opinion of you in my stern lecture, tonight. Now that his own feelings are being trampled, perhaps he’ll listen.”

“Trampled, indeed,” Gaius agreed. “He’s sulking in his room, this very moment.”

“Sulking,” he asked as he sat upright. “Now, what,” he insisted details.

“Apparently, a young woman named Lydia agreed to go skinny dipping with him, this afternoon.”

“Skinny dipping,” he repeated, shocked by the impropriety. He wondered if Merlin’s last common sense now resided below his waist.

“Once at the lake, she convinced him to go first. She then insisted that he turn his back while she undressed. When he finally turned, again, she had disappeared.” Gaius stopped and cleared his throat before he said, “along with all of his clothes.”

Arthur sat, shaking his head. “Any idiot would have suspected that old prank,” he uttered. “But then, Merlin isn’t behaving like any idiot but rather, a complete buffoon.”

Gaius sighed regrettably that he had more to tell and he continued. “When Merlin finally found courage enough to exit the water, he constructed a loincloth of leaves and started home. Unfortunately, he was ambushed, a second time. By several young women and armed with buckets of mud.”

“Mud?” 

“Saturated with stinkweed and pig manure.”

Arthur had heard enough. He quickly stood, ready to rush to comfort Merlin.

"Sire," he stopped him. “I believe now is not the time. The young women have given Merlin a lot to consider. I suggest that we follow their example and allow him the opportunity to contemplate his recent behavior.”

Arthur swayed a moment, anxious and indecisive. He finally concluded that Gaius was right. “Tell him that he has the night off," he instructed. "To sulk and think,” he added and then changed the subject. “What’s that in your hands,” he asked, now staring down at the box, again.

“Oh, this,” he said, as if his old brain suddenly remembered. “More unfortunate news, I’m afraid.” His earlier awkward expression returned as he hesitated. The enclosed item spoke volumes, itself, and he passed the wooden box to Arthur. “Since you and he no longer frequent the cave, he will need an alternate method to keep his fibers tough. I had hoped that it would not be needed."

As Arthur opened the box, his eyes beheld a lady’s friend. “A priapus,” he muttered but was unaware that he had spoken. Suddenly, his face discolored as the last of Gaius’ statement registered. The old man had hoped that he would continue to penetrate Merlin. Arthur had hoped so, too.

Gaius noticed that he caused Arthur embarrassment. He saw the need to explain but he did so in medical jargon. “With reference to the human anatomy, Arthur, the male's organ is considerably softer than this cypress, here, and much more comfortable for Merlin to receive.”

All the while, Arthur struggled with his emotions. He and Merlin had shared far more than simple anatomy or even chemistry. Arthur knew that he couldn’t explain or even comprehend what was happening but when deep inside Merlin, he could feel the earth move, could see the lightning strike, could hear the thunder roar... The thought that Merlin could disregard it all as if nothing had happened between them welled his eyes.

Gaius could see his hurt as Arthur stared into the box. Again, the wise old surrogate saw need to counsel. "Arthur, the human mind is a strange apparatus. For example, take your need to rattle me with your silly pranks. I suspect that they are your mind’s defense against the enormous obligations that you are destined to inherit. Particularly, a vast kingdom with responsibility to protect all of its citizens. Like you, Merlin is much wiser than he has been acting, of late. I suspect that his mind is retaliating against something that he fears, as well. Exactly what those fears are, I can only surmise." Gaius then spoke while slowly leaving. "Perhaps, you should try to ascertain those fears during your stern lecture. I believe that you’ll find the topic far more beneficial than the talking points that you have listed.”

Arthur looked down at his notes and then back at Gaius. As the old man exited, Arthur was left astounded by his wisdom.

 

Merrily they came, laughing and gossiping, to tend their waking ladies. Through habit, Arthur rose and cracked his window. His eyes centered on Tess’ bosom as his hand crept inside his breeches…

He soon discovered that what enthusiasm he had left for the maidservants had completely gone. Moving from the window, he sprawled backward across his bed. Absentmindedly, he squeezed his morning's sleep awakened bulge and gently thrust into his hands while trying to imagine that it was Merlin’s tight and warm passage that received his thrusts. Instead of an arousing image, sadness consumed his thoughts.

He didn’t need a talking point to know why Merlin was frightened. The prospect of slavery would frighten any man. Nor could he blame Merlin for denying what they had shared. He blamed Camelot and its rigid morality, instead. But unjust morality was an enemy far too abstract to fight. Arthur felt lost.

Resigning himself to live with his memories, he suddenly sensed someone standing near the servant’s entrance beyond his desk. Through sad and weary eyes, Arthur looked around.

Merlin stood propped against the door with his arms folded and his legs crossed. A small smile on his face, he said, “You once asked if I wish to join you. Is the invitation still offered?”

Arthur raised his head with a small questioning smile of his own. “But what of Camelot’s laws,” he asked.

“Begging your pardon, sire, but to hell with Camelot. She doesn't know me, like you do.” Merlin then tilted his head as his smile widened into an open grin. “Besides, being your catamite can be no worse than being your manservant.”

Arthur sat up, laughing with joy at his joke. “And as my catamite, I order you over here, this instant.”

“Coming, sire,” he said and then rushed into his outstretched arms. The force knocked Arthur back into his sprawl across his bed as Merlin landed on top.


	13. Losing Love

Merrily he rose, with smile and purpose, to tend his own manservant. Young prince Arthur knew that Merlin preferred to come each dawn before the lovely procession entered the square or the sound of gruffer voices that followed. A ritual for the virile young warrior, he built a fire, heated a basin of water and warmed a vial of oil. He knew that his manservant preferred warm oil as well as the predawn discretion. In his ritual, the prince lowered his small cloth and washed himself.

Merlin always came through the servant’s entrance. Time and discretion being paramount, Merlin quickly locked the doors and while lowering his trousers, he always rushed to Arthur. In their ritual, Merlin took one of two positions. He either leaned over the desk or he braced his back against the bedpost. Of late, Merlin braced his back against the post. Of late, too, Arthur quickly oiled his hands and aligned their organs. Together, they thrust hurriedly into his tight grip until both gasped out in short jerky breaths. Completing their morning ritual, they always gave each other a quick but passionate kiss before starting the day's activities.

Today, however, Merlin’s lips passed Arthur’s mouth. With an uttered, “thank you," he tried to move from his stance against the bedpost. A hand already braced between them, he sought to nudge Arthur backward. At the same time, his other hand reached for the washbasin on the desk.

Something was wrong. Arthur couldn’t quite put a finger on it but Merlin’s nervy little nudge made him pause. Feeling slightly slighted, Arthur stood longer than ritual while stubbornly holding his ground. As he lingered, he savored the very last sensations of their organs softening in his slippery hands while he made Merlin wait. After all, he was the crowned prince of Camelot and Merlin was still his manservant.

Merlin purposely lowered his head. He knew that the angle gave his bottom lip a perceived pout. A pout that he also knew Arthur couldn't ignore. With his long fingers sprayed across the tunic on Arthur’s chest, Merlin waited in silence. Faint and distant, the sound of laughter drifted through the closed windows. The maidservants were coming. In the limited dawn light, Merlin finally raised his head and his eyes met a highly raised brow that now waited on him instead, anticipating him to speak. Merlin didn’t. He lowered his head again and continued to wait. After all, Arthur was the crowned prince of Camelot and he was just his manservant.

Arthur clenched his jaws. He hated that Merlin could manipulate him so easily and often without a spoken word. And as Merlin anticipated, his perceived pout softened Arthur's normal gruffness and Arthur tenderly asked, “What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine,” he quickly uttered.

Arthur knew otherwise. The nervy little nudge told him so. Now forced to play a guessing game, Arthur pleaded, “was it painful for you? Are you getting tender, again? If so, the old tower should absorb any minor yells. We can go there today. After council. If you need for me to,” he suddenly stopped. By all appearance, he was begging to satisfy his own desire to penetrate Merlin. Arthur felt manipulated, again. Even worse, he realized that he still had Merlin pinned against the bedpost. Pinned against his will. Arthur now felt like a heel. He gingerly eased aside to let Merlin free.

Merlin hid a little anxious and hopeful smile as he inched toward the washbasin with his trousers down around his ankles. After wringing out a warm cloth, he quickly inched back to Arthur. “I’m not getting tender,” he said, although he still sounded a bit hurt.

“Merlin, I’m sorry,” Arthur apologized for what seemed a selfish request. “I didn’t mean to imply,” but he stopped as Merlin manipulated him yet again. This time, into silence. The warm cloth and Merlin’s gentle hands lifting his sac always left him speechless.

Arthur pinned his own back to the post and arched his spine. He closed his eyes, turned his face toward the ceiling and relished each tender rub as Merlin voluntarily wiped him clean. His breathing became ragged as little whimpers of pleasure escaped from deep in his throat. Subconsciously, he widened his stance to allow Merlin more access to his sac.

As if by accident, Merlin reached farther between his legs and pressed two fingers against his opening while he wiped. Arthur gasped. Startled by the sensation, his eyes flew open as his head flung down. He started to scold Merlin but suddenly he understood his hurt. Overcome with sympathy instead, Arthur could only stare at Merlin while he waited for him to remove his fingers from his asshole.

Merlin knew he stared. He hunched lower and with eyes nearly buried in Arthur’s loins, he meticulously wiped the oil and semen from his pubic hairs. He continued to hold Arthur’s sac in his palm with his accidental fingers still pressed against his opening.

For several long and tense moments, both remained silent. Merlin's request was obvious. He had asked it often enough. Finally, Merlin looked up into his face. With words unspoken, his eyes asked yet again. ‘Arthur, you are worth my freedom. Am I not worth yours?’

Arthur answered him once more and with his own sympathetic eyes. ‘But Merlin,' his eyes said. 'If only my freedom were at stake. I risk a kingdom, as well. I love you but I will place neither my love for you nor my life above the fate of my people or the future of Camelot.’ 

The silence between them now went silent. Merlin slowly stood up and stepped back, finished. He would not ask Arthur, again. With only a passing glance at him, Merlin moved to the basin to tend himself. Arthur stared at his back while hitching up his sleeping trousers. Neither shared another thought on the subject, spoken or unspoken, while they prepared for the day. The pain was too great.

 

 

A month ago, Merlin rescued Arthur from the lake of Avalon. Two weeks ago, he vanquished a sorcerer while Arthur lay unconscious. Yesterday, he deflected a bandit’s arrow aimed at Arthur's back. Each morning, he brought Arthur his breakfast and as the last male straggler. Each evening, he polished his armor or sharpened his swords. Each night, he fell asleep in his little room and with no desire to play with his toy. The thrill was gone. His present wasn’t priceless, after all. It seemed useless to him, now. What good was his gift, if he could not share it with Arthur?

 

In the predawn hour, Arthur continued to rise and wait for Merlin to come. While he waited, he developed a new ritual. Each morning, he unlocked his armoire drawer and took out the dagger-sized box that Gaius had given to him. Always seated on the side of his bed, he stared down at the box in his hands.

Arthur could see it coming. The old haunting sadness was slowly returning to Merlin’s eyes. He hoped that Merlin was not letting himself get tender again but rather, the sadness was a sign of his hurt feelings. He understood Merlin’s hurt. He also understood the moral laws of Camelot. The incident with Sir Leon had shown him that thing could go so terribly wrong and so fast. Arthur knew that he could not take that chance. Perhaps, if he had told Merlin that Sir Leon knew, then maybe Merlin would better appreciate his dilemma. But as it appeared now, Merlin seemed to be manipulating him, again. Manipulating him to choose. Camelot or him.

But he had already given Merlin his answer. And the idiot had chosen not to come back. Now, he needed to give Merlin the priapus to keep himself tough. But he hesitated. Giving Merlin the priapus would imply that he was abandoning Merlin to his own device, or rather, a hard wooden one. And all because Merlin simply wanted to share his precious gift with him.

A winless situation that Merlin had placed him in, Arthur felt lost and indecisive. In his new morning ritual, he sat and stared at the box in his hands while praying for Merlin to come back to him, that he may keep him tough.

 

 

The bed reminded Merlin of his own. It was more than adequate and comfortable looking, since he had no bed at all while growing up. The girl was pretty enough, too. A few years older than himself and maybe as many as ten but actually quite lovely. Her skin tone and hair color reminded him of Arthur. For an infamis, she appeared healthy and even slightly plump. Talkative, too. She said that she often opted for food instead of the cheap sour cider, which the tavern owner made her customers purchase for her, in advance.

It was the room, however, that left Merlin depressed. An old stuffy attic in a stoned structure in the far lower town, it was dank, dingy and windowless. The two candles seemed to add misery by smothering what little fresh night air that found the courage to seep through a crack or two.

Still, Merlin was determined to have his experience. Contrary to Arthur’s belief, he was not a self-effeminizing deviant whose strange affliction left him forever on the receiving end. He was a man, too, and since Arthur lacked the courage to let him exercise that fact, then he would simply find someone who would. Even if he had to pay for the privilege.

Merlin put his money on the bed. Too much money. And being chivalrous, he turned his back while they undressed. He did not turn again until the girl had concealed her nudity underneath her frayed blanket. 

Waiting on him, she noticed his nervousness. “First time, dearie” she asked in a calm and understanding voice. “But a pretty boy like you got nothing to fear. It’ll be me pleasure to give you a bit of experience,” she offered with a smile as she held up the blanket for him to join her. 

Merlin was grateful and he started to relax. Taking extra care with his long and bony limbs, he slid beneath the blanket while cautiously straddling her. As he reclined on top, the smell of cherry plum toilet water sprinkled on the sheets did little to disguise the sweat and semen of those who had preceded him. He almost gagged.

Still, he was determined. He pushed the odor from his thoughts, if not from his nostrils and pretended that the warm flesh underneath him belonged to Arthur. Her plump protruding softness that pressed against his chest was a bit difficult to mistake for Arthur’s hard pecs but he closed his eyes and kissed her as if she were him, anyway.

The girl was very impressed. She felt a passion so powerful and yet so gentle and so rare. It left her yearning to be that loved and she readily joined him, sensuously swaying her hips to urge his erection. Merlin was quickly getting there. An annoying itch was getting there, too. He ignored it. A little sensitivity he expected since Arthur had not toughened him up in quite some time.

Merlin continued. He was determined to share his present and with his substitute Arthur. A few light pricks, however, were not so easily ignored. Still, he fought through the pain, hoping the worst was over. Suddenly, a pin stuck him hard and he tensed, too frightened to move.

The girl felt him tense. She grew noticeably worried for him. “Dearie, what’s wrong,” she asked, now struggling to see his face just over her shoulder. “Are you alright,” she insisted to know the matter after another pin stuck him.

Merlin remained motionless on top her while trying not to panic. Several more painful needle sticks and he almost did. Thinking fast, he buried his face in the mattress beside her head and took deep breaths. The horrid smell of old sweat and semen quickly quelled his erection. An explanation was in order and he gave her several long sighs at his perceived impotence to buy a bit more time for his pains to ease. Finally, he apologized, “I'm sorry. I thought that I could go through with it but I can’t. You see, someone else commands my love.” That much was true and he summoned the courage to rise. “It seems, far deeper than I had thought.”

"I know," she said. She had easily felt his passion and his love for someone else. “I could tell by the way you kissed me," she explained how she knew. "I’ve been at me trade long enough to feel when I’m being used as a substitute. It kinda goes with the territory.”

Merlin turned his back to her and slowly dressed. He was grateful that his modesty also concealed the pain on his face. “Then, you understand,” he grimaced out, grateful again that his perceived impotent predicament called for discomfort.

“Of course I do, dearie. Though it leaves me kinda sad that I’m not her,” she spoke as if she had experienced a great loss. She had. Well-paying and handsome customers were few and far between. She had hoped the boy would become a regular. She truly liked him. “But you go to her,” she advised. “Tell her that you love her. I’m sure that everything will work out just fine.”

“Thank you,” Merlin managed through another grimace before he eased precariously out the door.

The girl watch him leave as a sadness engulfed her. In her heart, she knew that she would never find a love like the love she had just felt in the boy. Maybe someday she would see him again and the thought added a little wishful smile to her sadness.

Merlin continued down the stairs. In the dead of night, the few tavern patrons were not sober enough to notice him leave, let alone notice his pretense at a satisfied stroll out the door.

Merlin successfully dodged the guards, again, and Gaius, too, who still snored. He eased into his room, closed the door and then fell face down on his bed. After all the suffering he had endured to toughen up, he was getting tender, again. He needed Arthur, he wanted Arthur but Arthur lacked the courage to let him love him.

Merlin wanted to cry.

 

No sooner had Merlin managed to fall asleep, his eyes slowly opened to a voice so faint that he wondered if he had dreamed it.

“Merrrlin.”

The sound seemed leagues away.

“Merrrlin.”

He suddenly smothered his head with his pillow. It was no dream. The great dragon was calling him. What else could go wrong in a single night, he wondered while he debated whether to answer the dragon’s call. He finally shucked off his covers and slipped out again.

Kilgharrah sat perched on his rock. He waited impatiently for Merlin to appear. Without formality of greeting, the large scaly reptile curtly spewed, “Do not cut off your nose to spite your face.”

“What,” Merlin asked with an abrupt halt in the archway. The incivility as well as another riddle took him aback.

“You push destiny too far,” Kilgharrah warned as he flapped mightily his wings to rise to his feet. “Uther Pendragon bends his laws for no man. Not even his own son. You know this and still you engage the young prince in a spiteful battle of wills. Arthur has given you his answer. He will place no one above Camelot! While you say, to hell with her, take caution that you do not destroy Albion. Arthur will change the laws of the land when he is king. Until then, you must accept what destiny offers.”

Merlin stared up at the riled creature. He became riled, too and he stalked toward Kilgharrah. “Accept what destiny offers," he demanded. "Already, I accept that it makes me a liar, a fool, a servant and a would-be slave! But half a man,” he stopped and lowered his voice as if embarrassed to admit, “or half a lover, I will not accept.”

“And so, you choose no love, at all,” Kilgharrah blasted the wisdom of his logic. “Perhaps, you are not worthy of the love you seek!”

Merlin staggered at the statement. He then grew outright incensed. “Not worthy of Arthur’s love,” he demanded. “How can you even say that, after my months of agony to have it! Or my shame from Camelot’s woman while fearing slavery from Camelot’s laws! And all the while, being a servant, a fool and a liar for Arthur!” Merlin contradicted the great dragon with vehement head shakes. “No!, No!” he shouted as he turned and walked out. “It is Arthur who is not worthy!”

 

 

She looked so frightened to Merlin. She also looked so sweet and innocent but above all, she was like him. She, too, had magic. Certainly, no reason to be caged like an animal. Against Gaius' advice, Merlin freed her. He freed Freya. He then fell in love with her. But he had no idea that each night she became a horrible bloodthirsty creature, cursed to kill. Nor could she bring herself to tell him and lose the only kindness in her curse'ed life.

Merlin hid her in the catacombs deep under the castle. Far from ideal, but at least she was safe. He sneaked in candles and blankets and brought her wash water and breakfast before straggling to tend the prince. Every available moment, he spent with her, sharing his magic and making their plans.

After a few days, Merlin decided that he would leave with Freya. He would leave Camelot. Forget destiny. Most of all, forget Arthur. He would leave Arthur far behind. He owed it to himself to be happy. No longer would he be a liar, a fool, a servant and a would-be slave. But leaving, now, he would be no man. He had gotten tender, again. For Freya, he had to remedy that. But he needed Arthur to help him do it. He was also certain that Arthur wouldn’t mind. In fact, he knew that Arthur would be elated, as long as the royal prat didn’t jeopardize his own precious manhood in the process. It would take a month of grueling agony. A month at the most, that he must convince Freya to stay. Four weeks and they would spend the rest of their lives together.

 

As Arthur sat in his new morning ritual, staring at the wooden box and yet hoping that Merlin would come back to him, Merlin entered.


	14. Freya

With hesitant steps reserved for a person unworthy of his love, Merlin entered while cautiously looking at Arthur. Feeling the love now lost between then, his efforts to resume their morning ritual proved far harder than he had anticipated. A candle on the armoire left Arthur resembling a still-life sitting silently on his bedside. The lack of response from Arthur hesitated him, more. In his hesitation, Merlin beckoned toward his hands. “What’s in the box,” he asked.

Arthur had yet to look around at him. Quite obvious, Merlin had not come seeking his love since he had not bothered to lock the doors. Based on that fact, Arthur continued to stare at the box while wondering how Merlin would interpret the gift. Whatever his interpretation, Arthur knew that Merlin would need it if he continued to stay away. Cautious, too, he answered, “something that Gaius gave to me. A while ago.” He finally decided to give it to Merlin and he said, “Something for you.”

“For me?”

Arthur held out the dagger-sized container, handing it to him.

Merlin came within their arms’ length and took the box. He stepped back, again. As he opened it, he knew that Arthur carefully watched his face. He summoned efforts to hide his emotions but found the feat impossible and he sadly uttered, “A lady’s friend.”

“To stay tough,” Arthur replied in almost a whisper. “Just in case.”

Merlin shifted his eyes from the box to meet Arthur’s gaze. Both knew that the prospect of death was a warrior’s constant companion. He was sure that Arthur implied his own death and he asked, “But why so long to give it to me?”

Arthur didn’t answer. He stood, instead, and circled the bed while changing the subject. “I told Leon that I’ll command the morning run. We need to search the countryside for this creature.” As he walked by Merlin, he gave him a glance along with a sad little snort. The answer to his question was obvious. He didn't want to die and leave Merlin. The thought had been too hard to face. But Merlin had abandoned him, instead. Had abandoned their love. That was equally as hard to acknowledge. "Ensure that my breakfast is here when I return,” he ordered, as he went behind his screen to dress.

With Arthur out of sight, Merlin continued to stand and hold the box in his hands. A tearful despair threatened to twist his face. The old dragon had been right. His spiteful battle of wills had left him abandoned to his own device. But centering his thoughts on Freya, Merlin quickly wiped his eyes. They didn’t have to wait for weeks to leave, now. With his own device, he could toughen himself. It would take an egregious effort to manage alone since asking Freya for help was not an option. She must never see him as a self-effeminizing moral deviant and less than a man, the way Arthur saw him. He hoped that his love for her would get him though the pain. Besides, a month would serve as ample courtship before they made love.

She was nothing like Arthur, Merlin thought while standing and convincing himself that he didn’t need Arthur’s help. In his growing conviction, his face gradually changed from threatening tears to hard resolve. He could do it for Freya. She was kind and Arthur was gruff. She was grateful and Arthur was thankless. She considered him a hero and Arthur considered him an idiot. She was outside the law like himself and Arthur was the law. She thought his magic was beautiful and Arthur didn’t even know…

With his box in hand, Merlin turned and without reply, he shut the servant’s door behind him.

The sound made Arthur close his eyes. Standing behind the screen, he dropped his head and sadly sighed. Although Merlin never mentioned that he was leaving Camelot but the deep hollowness that Arthur felt inside his chest intuitively said that his time with Merlin had come to an end.

 

 

Gaius stooped in the woods. Ears and eyes alert in fear of the bloodthirsty creature, he first heard and then he saw the wagon on the nearby road. A second rolling cage was headed for Camelot. A second bounty hunter. One glimpse of the captive sitting inside the wagon made Gaius scurry. He took a short cut through the lower town as fast as his aged body would allow. Everything was spiraling out of control, he thought as he nearly dropped his herb satchel. Another chore that Merlin had neglected but Gaius had been too worried to admonish him.

The wagon was already empty by the time Gaius reached the citadel. The steps snatched his last breath and he leaned against the doorway with his chest heaving to snatch it back. Reclaiming half, Gaius continued toward the council chamber. He suspected the bounty hunter had taken his captive there.

Overlooking the road, a knight on the training field had also seen the wagon. He notified the prince, who busily organized more knights into search parties to find the bloodthirsty creature. As Gaius progressed with half his breath, he watched Arthur, Leon and several other knights enter the council doors moments ahead of him. When Gaius finally arrived, he made his way around the room’s periphery and leaned against a pillar. An excellent view of the bounty hunter and his captive but still discreet enough to conceal his worry and his exhaustion.

To Gaius, the bounty hunter looked like all the rest. Large, powerful and dirty. The captive, however, looked anything but. A boy, this time, he appeared to be of some prominence. Perhaps, a cherished servant in a noble household, Gaius surmised while growing more frightened. He had seen such servants before. Exceedingly feminine, the boy was in his late-teens, well dressed, well fed and was remarkably clean despite his captivity. Apparently not held captive for long, which meant that he was probably a subject of the kingdom Gaius also surmised as he listened to the bounty hunter give the boy’s history to Uther.

“Yeah, he’s a sorcerer, alright,” the large man declared, and rather hard and factual to the king’s skeptical brow. “Raised in Lord Garnette’s manor. And raised to be his catamite.”

Uther frowned. He deplored the practice. He frowned more that Lord Garnette was a nobleman in his own kingdom. But a nobleman taking sexual pleasure from his chattel was not against the law. Uther nodded for the bounty hunter to continue.

The big and brutish man gazed down at the svelte boy knelt before the king’s feet. Almost sympathetic, he said, “After traveling a day with him, I’d say that he prefers death to the likes of Garnette. When time came for the boy to start entertaining his master, he tried to escape. Only, Garnette suspected his attempt. The boy never got beyond his manor gates…”

Gaius’ heart was hammering in his chest. He moved further toward the back of the pillar with efforts to conceal his fear while he tried not to stare too closely at Arthur. Gaius dreaded the prince's reaction. He leaned farther behind the stone, now anticipating the bounty hunter’s next words.

“When Garnette started taking his pleasure,” the man stopped and cynically laughed to imagine but in a raspy and humorless voice, he said, "the boy started to yell and scream as though someone was killing him. Garnette said that normally he would have been flattered, if you catch my meaning. But he knew, instead, that the boy suffers the sorcerers’ affliction. Said he hadn’t seen or heard of a case in over twenty years. Not since your great purge.”

Gaius watched Arthur’s face first furrow as if trying to equate the knowledge. He then watched the furrow transform into a frozen set of clenched jaws. Arthur was completely pale when he braved a look at Gaius, hidden half behind the pillar. Thankfully, Uther stood and started circling the boy. His movement took everyone’s attention. Gaius readily gave his attention, too, to avoid Arthur’s eyes. With his last shred of composure, Gaius pretended that the boy was the center of his thoughts.

As Gaius sought escape from Arthur’s clenched face, he couldn’t help but note that the boy did seem resigned to death. Crouched under the king’s glare with his head lowered, he made no sound and gave no protest. His sleek beautiful features and milk-bathed complexion resembled a marble statue carved to adorn an ancient Grecian temple. Over the years, Gaius knew that many such men had chosen death as a far more honorable fate than sexual slavery.

Apparent to Gaius, Uther held the same sentiment as he spewed his ill-will against his kingdom’s nobleman. “Lord Garnette was wise to respect my decree and part with his years of investment spent grooming his pleasure,” he said.

The bounty hunter gave another cynical and humorless laugh. “Couldn’t very well use the boy, now, could he,” he asked. “Not with his screaming affliction.”

Uther turned a threatening gaze upon the brazenly-close-to-insolent man but motioned to a guard to toss the hunter his bounty. A sack with ten pieces of gold. Their transaction complete, Uther issued his sentence while turning to exit. “The chopping block," he said. "At dusk. Take him to the dungeons.”

Arthur was already leaving. And with rapid strides. He hoped that his father had not seen the shock on his face.

Gaius lingered. He continued to lean his shoulder against the pillar while he waited for his shaking legs to calm enough to chance a step. Disguising his wait, he gave a final observation of the boy. As the guards lugged him to his feet and muscled him out, Gaius' eyes followed them toward the double doors. It was then that Gaius noticed Sir Leon standing across the room. A similar shock, fear and paleness commanded Leon's features as he watched Arthur’s rigid back disappear from the hallway.

 

Chaos consumed Camelot. The bloodthirsty animal was killing its citizens. Amid the killings, a beheading was scheduled. Arthur was running ragged by order of the king to find the creature, protect Camelot's subjects, secure the catamite sorcerer and carry out the execution. At the same time, he had to find Merlin. He hadn’t seen him for quite a while. Not since Merlin stole a dress from Morgana’s wardrobe.

Merlin had thrown caution to the wind. He now spent all of his time with Freya, deep within the catacombs. Near midnight, he planned to make their escape into a wonderful new life filled with mountain cathedrals, crystal lakes and endless flower fields. By dawn, however, Merlin wept on the shore of Avalon with Freya's lifeless body in his arms.

Devastated by her death, he turned from her burning vessel while wondering where to go. Walking aimlessly in his sorrow, he finally accepted what the old dragons had said. No man could escape his destiny. Led by his footsteps alone, Merlin returned to Camelot.

Upon his return, Arthur seemed exceptionally kind and even playful. Merlin was grateful for that small consolation. However, Arthur’s forced congeniality, pretending that nothing was wrong didn't last for very long. The next day, it turned into sheer mayhem. Granted, the catamite sorcerer was dead and bloodthirsty monster had fled, mortally wounded, but Sir Leon’s strained demeanor threatened to shatter his bizarre pretense that all was back to normal.

Arthur watched Leon’s nervous behavior on the training field. Missing parries and messing ripostes, Leon often glanced at him with almost panic-stricken eyes. After practice ended, Arthur gave a casual smile as he walked up to his most trusted knight. “An evening's hunt,” he calmly suggested.

Leon readily grabbed at the offer. “I believe that a discreet conversation is definitely in order, sire,” he spoke low while glancing about. 

As Arthur turned to leave the training field, he said, “I’ll meet you in the square, without delay.”

Not the best evening for a hunt, they soon took refuge from the weather inside a washed and hollowed-out embankment. Standing side by side and dripping wet in their normal clothing, both stared out at the pounding rain. Arthur finally spoke. Again, with pretense that nothing was wrong, he casually asked, “The catamite in court, I believe that he left you concerned?”

An understatement, Leon was slow to respond. He tried to decipher the prince’s strange behavior that bordered on flippancy. Far from a casual matter, Leon knew what he had seen Arthur and Merlin doing in the cave. But more so, what he had heard. The yells and screams were exactly as the bounty hunter had described. Shielding a sexual act was a minor offense but shielding a sorcerer was high treason and in violation of the king’s most rigid decree. If Merlin was indeed a sorcerer, Leon wanted no part and he said, “I now find myself honor-bound to report what I witnessed in the cave.”

Arthur continued to show very little concern, however, he left Leon with doubts. “If you are convinced that you witnessed sorcery, then yes," he said. "It is your sworn duty to report it. But, be certain. You are a nobleman and Merlin, a commoner. Your words alone could condemn an innocent man.”

Leon turned his face and gawked at Arthur. With his mouth ajar, a deeper furrow than doubt delineated the new distress in his demeanor. He knew what he had witnessed, which meant that Arthur was harboring a sorcerer. Caught between the king and the prince of Camelot, Leon was now unsure of just what to do about his dilemma.

Arthur, however, knew exactly what he, himself, must do. Damn the dildo or Merlin’s objections, he thought. At all cost, he had to find out if Merlin was still tough. If he wasn't tough, he had to get him tough, again. And very quickly.


	15. Days of Confusion

Arthur clenched his teeth to muffle his shouts. “Merlin, will you please answer my question,” he insisted.

"Why do you ask," Merlin insisted, too. He narrowed his eyes to understand Arthur's efforts to not yell at him. Not yell. In fact, he thought that Arthur seemed to muzzle himself to keep from shouting. But maybe the reason was the middle of the night or the sensitive nature of his topic. A conversation that Merlin did not want to have, he stubbornly repeated, “why do you ask?”

"Just answer the question," Arthur demanded. “Are you tender, again?”

“Why do you want to know,” Merlin insisted, again. After all, it was near midnight and the topic was sex. Arthur had even ordered a bath in the late hour and he now paraded about with only a towel hanging precariously from his waist. Not to mention, he had locked both doors.

Arthur shouted against his muzzle. "Are you tender, again," he demanded to know.

Merlin didn’t answer. He wanted to say, “mind your own damned business,”but a tad too insolent, he prudently settled on images of strangling Arthur for flaunting his golden body after denying him the privilege to claim it. Silent and angry, Merlin went to the wardrobe and retrieved a second set of sleeping clothes for Arthur. Apparently, his highness found the first set unsatisfactory since he refused to put them on. Merlin held out the second set, implying that Arthur get dressed and get in bed so that he could leave. Merlin then shook the clothes at him.

Arthur nearly broke his muzzle. “Will you answer the damned question,” he demanded and in a rapid stalk toward him.

Merlin's anger escalated, too. He squared his back against the wardrobe door in defense as he demanded, “Why,” again, and then he slaughtered prudence. “To know how hard you can fuck me?”

Arthur snapped. Fear and burden broke his senses. He snarled his contempt for Merlin's question in his face. “Yes,” he answered sarcastic, mocking the actual truth. “I do need to know if you can take a good hard fucking!” Accenting the contemptuous word, he pounded the side of his fist against the wardrobe door near Merlin's head.

Merlin flinched. He had never seen Arthur so distressed. This was not about sex, he now realized as he stared in shock as Arthur started to fumble frantically to remove his belt. "Arthur, what's wrong," he uttered. “What’s happened, why,”

“Please, Merlin, ask me no questions,” he begged.

“But Arthur,” he rasped out. He could literally see the fear and sweat oozing from Arthur's pores. “Why are you doing this? What’s wrong?”

“Merlin, please,” he begged again while fumbling frantically to open his breeches.

With no answer, Merlin started rummaging through his brain, tossing thoughts left and right in a mad search to find one. Two days ago offered him promise. Two days ago, Arthur had left him to his own device. Now, Arthur was practically ripping open his trousers. But what could put such fear into a warrior trained all of his life to hide his fears, Merlin dug the question from deep inside his cerebella. Something was frightening Arthur enough to practically rape him. But what was so frightening about him being tender, he wondered. What could possibly terrify Arthur about his sexual affliction, his brain asked, when suddenly his body froze. His warlock's affliction.

Merlin's trousers drop to the floor. Standing petrified, he watched Arthur spit-slick his fingers and try to squeeze them between his thighs and up between his buttocks. He was so tense that it made Arthur crack his muzzle. “Relax, damn it,” he shouted.

“Of course, Arthur, of course, of course,” Merlin said, mumbling and nodding as he voluntarily inched open his stance.

Arthur heard the trauma in his mumble and he looked up into his face. He saw a fear that now surpassed his own. But Arthur had to look away. He could never admit that he knew and not even to himself. A bizarre pretense but like Leon, he would be honor-bound to give up Merlin and that, he would never do. As Arthur cast his eyes aside, Merlin mumbled louder. “Of course, Arthur, of course,” he said, now implying that he understood the need for secrecy. He had lived in secrecy all of his life. However, his mumble became more of a painful questioning. Having magic did not explain why Arthur was forcing his fingers inside him. His words pleaded for that answer. "But why, Arthur," he asked. What's happened? What's wrong?"

Arthur heard his mutter change, again. Without looking up, he whispered, “Please, Merlin. You have to trust me.”

“Trust you, trust you,” he asked, changing his painful mumble yet again. Merlin felt torn asunder. How could he blindly trust Arthur with his life when he considered Arthur unworthy of his love? Tears started to fall from his cheeks. He thought it was the hardest decision that he would ever have to make…

Arthur knew the gravity of what he asked but the mind was a strange apparatus, Gaius once said. Arthur could not tell Merlin that he knew, that Leon knew and still deny it, himself. Merlin simply had to trust him. He could offer nothing more. Except, a gentle kiss to help him decide. Through the salty taste of tears streaming down upon their lips, he hoped that Merlin could feel his love for him.

After a long and silent moment and with his tears still freefalling, Merlin made his decision. Against Arthur's lips, he finally answered his original question. Uttering again, he said, “I don’t know for sure how tender I am. It’s been quite some time.”

Unwelcome news but Arthur pressed their foreheads together as he replied, “Then, we must find out.” When Arthur heard him utter another, “of course,” he tenderly cupped his sac and eased two fingers deeper inside him. Gently circling and thrusting his fingers to help urge his erection, Arthur took his length in his other hand and joined their lips, again, kissing him that he may feel when his passions started to change.

Merlin closed his eyes and readily surrendered to whatever Arthur needed to do. He breathed raggedly in fear of the stabbing daggers while he let himself melt into Arthur's exquisite touch after denying himself for so long.

Only moments later, however, Merlin was easing past a snoring Gaius. With occasional needles still sticking at his loins and making him grimace, he fell across his bed. Everything was so confusing, he thought. Two days ago, Arthur abandoned him while Gaius lectured and waited for answers. But that concerned Freya and his secret plans to leave with her. Now, his beloved Freya was dead, Gaius was saying nothing and Arthur was pleading that he simply trust him. Simply trust him with his life and for some unknown reason while pretending that he did not have magic. And another needle stuck him… 

Merlin felt so lost, hurt and confused that he wanted to cry, again.

 

 

Leon wanted to cry, too. For days he walked around with a furrow that started to permanently sag his forehead. At any moment, he expected Uther to stuff him into a sack filled with snakes and toss him into a nearby lake. One of the army’s harshest punishments held over from the old Roman days but then, shielding a sorcerer was high treason. On the other hand, he suspected that Arthur had Sir Tomas hurled into the distant tundra of Northumbia. At any moment, he expected Arthur to hurl him even farther. Leon felt caught between the two. King and Prince. Father and son. Law and sorcery. Life and death. 

And Sir Tomas was recently back. He, too, had heard the yelling and screaming on the riverbank. Sir Leon now had to act. Sorcery was a monster that seldom stayed hidden in Uther Pendragon’s kingdom. After all, Leon knew that he knew about it. As did the prince. And how many others, he wondered. If Merlin were exposed, it wouldn't take long for the old spiteful knight to connect the dots. Once Sir Tomas told the king that he shielded a sorcerer, Leon expected that Sir Tomas would gladly volunteer to stuff him into a sack with snakes and splash him into a river, too. 

Walking around with a perpetual frown was no longer an option. Leon needed information to devise a plan to prevent his pending fates. Obvious to him, what he witnessed Arthur and Merlin doing in the cave had not been an enjoyable endeavor. Certainly not for the six long weeks that Arthur requested he keep the knights from the riverbank. He surmised that Arthur and Merlin had been engaging in some type of cure.

To learn if such a cure existed, he needed to talk to Gaius. And yet, he hesitated. Gaius was like a father to Merlin, which meant that Gaius was probably one of the untold others who knew that Merlin had magic. Leon feared that he might be risking hemlock along with a distant tundra or a lake with snakes.

After more days of contemplation, he decided to use a medical matter as his guise to talk to Gaius. He was indeed sick, by now. Sick with fear and worry. Since Gaius was a physician, he hoped that Gaius had to keep his confidence. That is, if Gaius didn't kill him.

 

Gaius needed to talk to someone, too. But definitely not Leon. With Merlin and Arthur lost deep in pretense and refusing to acknowledge that Merlin had magic, Gaius feared that he might inadvertently reveal to Leon more than the knight already suspected. However, Gaius was not surprised when Leon reported to his quarters and looking like he ached all over. Anxiety could reduce a human body to rubble, Gaius was well aware. If not for his own tinctures with their added smidgens of alcohol, he imagined that he would look like Leon.

After Gaius motioned Leon toward his examining table, he hurried to a cupboard and took another small swig. “For my lumbago,” he said when he turned to see Leon’s curious stare. “And what seems to be the nature of your ailment,” he asked, although he already suspected that it concerned sorcery.

Leon quickly answered, “I’m sure that it’s stress, Gaius.” He was also sure that any physician would ask the cause.

Gaius readily did. “Ah, a self-diagnosis,” he said, trying to stay professional. “And what seems to be the cause of this stress?”

Leon sat on the table and glanced about as if the walls had ears. Almost whispering, he said, “Before I answer, is it true that you can never repeat my words and not even to the king?”

Gaius glanced about because Leon glanced about and then he moved a bit closer, giving Leon the discretion that he sought. “You’re correct,” he almost whispered, too. “Not even to the king. He’s well aware of my Hippocratic Oath.” He then repeated his oath to reassure Leon. But only the phrases that mattered, he said, “All that come to my knowledge in the exercise of my profession or in my daily commerce with men, I will keep secret and never reveal.”

Leon was gladly convinced. “The catamite sorcerer,” he quickly started while still almost whispering. “You were there when the bounty hunter described something called a warlock’s affliction. Can such an affliction be cured,” he asked.

“A cure,” Gaius repeated his question. “Now, let me think,” he said, buying himself time to deduce the reason Leon would ask. With his mind racing, he desperately wanted another small swig. After a moment, he said, “Um… yes. I believe that I once heard of such a cure. But I’ve also heard that it's a long and arduous process, which takes weeks or perhaps months to complete. I doubt if the king, himself, is aware of so rare a cure despite his great purge. Why do you ask,” he casually inquired. 

Leon practically leaped from the table. “No particular reason,” he said, nearly running for the door. “I was just wondering if that catamite could have been saved. But since he never denied being a sorcerer, I guess not. Thank you, Gaius,” he added as his sagging forehead finally lifted. With his plan now formulated, he could finally save himself.

As Leon rushed out, Gaius exhaled.

 

The cave was no longer an option to toughen Merlin up again. Not with the knights’ running regimen. The predawn hour in Arthur’s chambers had to suffice. But each time Arthur watched Merlin tie his neckerchief around his mouth, he felt as though a little piece of his heart died. He felt as though large clumps of it died each time he brought Merlin to a literally gagging erection.

Arthur knew that fear made him feel that way. The agony that he was putting Merlin through and to still lose him to a pyre, Arthur was sure that his whole heart would die at once, along with Merlin. It would die because Merlin was his heart, now. Not even Guinevere would make it live, again. As Arthur put Merlin and thus his heart through the agonizing pace, he found that he could no longer penetrate Merlin. Not with a frightened and dying heart. He could not manage an erection. 

But thankfully, they toughened Merlin again with hand jobs, alone. Twice daily for two weeks, he yelled in agony but now, his pains were virtually gone. In the near darkness of the drawn curtains that once added buffer for his gagging screams, Merlin soon sensed that Arthur still received no pleasure from him, at all. To the contrary, Arthur always seemed strained and mechanical. Even trite. Never changing, Arthur always reclined on his back and rested his arm upon Merlin's stomach. With his deeply shadowed face always turned away, Arthur continued to use a single hand to bring forth Merlin's release while never finding release, himself. With his leg half-drawn and his other hand always on guard, Arthur blocked Merlin's every advancing reach.

Merlin took blame for that. His spiteful efforts to make Arthur feel guilty had worked so well, he thought. But now that his pains were almost gone, Merlin knew that he had to fix Arthur’s guilt and trite. Even worse than not claiming Arthur, he now realized was Arthur not finding pleasure in him. As Merlin felt Arthur rising from the bed, he quickly spoke, offering himself. “Arthur, what about my upper fibers,” he asked, in his own guilty plea.

Arthur patted, finding his thigh while giving him a sad but unseen smile. “You’ll be fine,” he said. “Just remember to use Gaius’ gift on occasion.”

In the near darkness, Merlin struggled to grab his arm. He finally took hold. “Arthur, please wait,” he uttered.

Arthur now sought an actual excuse to give him. “Merlin, I know what you offer," he said. "But I cannot offer you the same. My position concerning Camelot’s future has not changed.” He then exited the curtains.

The rejection stung Merlin to his core.


	16. Betrayal

Merlin searched desperately for a silver lining. With his eyes staring at the dark canopy overhead, he continued to lie hidden in Arthur’s bed. Staring long and hard enough, he finally found a sliver of silver. His fibers. They had not taken four weeks to toughen up, again. Only three. Nor had the second time been quite as excruciating as the first. He felt grateful to Arthur for that. If Arthur had not insisted when he did, Merlin lay convinced that his fibers would have completely reverted. As it was, they had managed with hand jobs. To his dismay, Arthur refused to penetrate him and even when offered. Obvious to Merlin, Arthur still considered him a friend to conceal his magic but no longer a lover. Merlin wanted desperately to remedy that. It was the dark cloud that he searched…

In his rejection, he hashed over the old dragon's words. “Perhaps, you are not worthy of the love you seek,” Kilgharrah had said. Merlin remembered how he vehemently rebuffed the words. Now, experience was teaching him that rejection was an awful feeling. It could easily diminish a person’s dignity and self-worth. Maybe his efforts to diminish Arthur’s had proved himself unworthy. Maybe that’s what the old dragon had meant, Merlin was thinking when he heard a key against metal. Was training over so soon, he wondered when suddenly the doors burst open.

It sounded as though a dozen or more people were entering. Merlin sat up in panic. The citadel was under attack, he first thought but he quickly rummaged his brain and found that he would have heard the shouts and clacking steel, long before now. These people had come with carefully planted footsteps and with no voices…

Merlin then heard a voice. Arthur’s voice. It was low and pleading but didn’t seem quite as upset as it should have sounded. But maybe his own shock made him fail to hear things clearly, he rummaged…

Arthur was saying to someone, “Have the guards wait outside,” but apparently Arthur was overruled and Merlin heard him insist, “At least, until he’s properly dressed, father.” 

The king. 

Merlin felt his world collapsing around him. He would now be sold a slave. He then heard Uther’s voice boom, denying Arthur’s request. “I will not give a sorcerer the chance to escape!”

Merlin felt his world crash and burn. Sitting inside the hanging drapes, he seemed already in a dark prison cell. But how did the king even know he was there, he rummaged again for an answer. He quickly found it. Arthur. Trust him, Arthur had pleaded and now Arthur had betrayed him. Once, Arthur had made love to him and now Arthur would see him dead. Merlin gave a single sigh in resignation. If Arthur wished him upon a pyre, then so be it. All he had left was his destiny and now that was gone, too. Sitting half-naked in near darkness, he sadly accepted his pending fate.

A crack suddenly split the curtains and a third voice was quickly whispering and in a much more desperate plea. “Say nothing, at all,” the voice insisted.

Merlin’s eyes adjusted to the light to see Gaius’ face. The cherished wrinkles offered him a little spirit but not enough reason to live. Gaius was handing him his clothes.

 

Taken to the council chambers, Merlin had nothing to say, with or without Gaius' plea for silence. Kneeling quietly at the king’s feet, he lowered his head. He had become another catamite sorcerer, sleek and slender with features resembling a marble statue carved to adorn an ancient Grecian temple… In his only movement, his eyes often shifted to his right to stared at a set of boots just within his periphery. Familiar boots. He had cleaned them dozens of times. The boots needed another good polish, he thought in his mind’s escape. They were scuffed and marred and had many drying cracks. Another chore that he neglected while he lay hurting in Arthur’s bed. But why would Arthur put him through the secret agony, he wondered, when only to turn him over to his father a public spectacle, in the end.

No bounty hunter was present, this time. Instead, Sir Leon walked forward and stood directly behind Merlin. Amid the crowded council of knights, noblemen and elders, he addressed the king. “Sire,” he spoke over Merlin’s head. “It was last summer that I witnessed the incident in a cave by the river. An incident, which Sir Tomas also heard...”

Merlin recognized the voice. Sir Leon. He started to rummage his brain again, searching for his past interactions with the knight. There had been so few, he recalled. Mainly, conversations confined to the training field and only then, a word or two to offer or ask for weaponry. He knew that Sir Leon was rising quickly in Arthur’s favor and that he now oversaw his running program.

While Merlin rummaged, Leon continued to speak. “I realize that I should have come forward much sooner, my lord,” he apologized for his long delay. “However, I felt that the prince’s intimate activities superseded my realm of concern. Only after the catamite sorcerer was brought before this council, several weeks ago, did I equate the incident that I witnessed in the cave. I must admit, sire, that I've been frightened to come forward. And am frightened, even now,” he stopped and gave the prince a subjugated glance that pleaded for no reprisal. 

Arthur dipped his head, promising no retaliation. He then moved closer to the king but kept a constant gaze on Sir Leon and on his manservant, knelt before the knight. With crossed arms, Arthur rubbed a hand about his chin as if heavily weighing the allegations. All the while, he maintained a deep and exaggerated furrow. Occasionally, he shook his head to insinuate that Sir Leon’s accusation was utterly preposterous. His manservant could not possibly be a sorcerer. Not under his very nose.

Uther often glanced at Arthur while taking note of his doubtful expressions but he allowed the knight to continue.

Carefully choosing his words, Leon gave excuse for his second delay to come forward and reveal what he knew. “Northumbia is an excellent opportunity for a lead delegate, my lord,” he praised. “But I'm afraid, it offers virtually no opportunity for an aspiring young knight.” 

Uther snorted at his subtlety and tact. The knight was right to fear his son. Uther now wondered if sorcery was the true reason that Arthur had him hurl Sir Thomas into the distant tundra of Northumbia. However, he seemed annoyed by the digression and he waved his hand, beckoning Sir Leon to get on with his accusation.

Again, Leon glanced at Arthur before addressing the king. "It remains my duty to step forward," he said. "I believe the yells and screams in the cave were similar to those of the catamite sorcerer, as described by the bounty hunter. It is now my contention that Arthur’s manservant is a sorcerer.”

A murmuring wave rushed over the council but quickly gave way to a single stifled laugh left echoing in their silence. All eyes settled on the prince. Arthur had his mouth covered with the hand that once rubbed his chin while his chest and shoulders shook with laughter.

Uther furrowed at him. “Arthur," he ridiculed. "You obviously find Sir Leon's accusation to be both absurd and amusing. Perhaps, you would like to share with the court your amused absurdity?”

Arthur cleared his throat. He then lowered his head, as if embarrassed. With his lowered head, he beckoned toward Merlin. In an equally embarrassed voice, he said, “my manservant was a virgin when I first took him, in the cave. I’m quite sure, that would explain the yells and screams that Sir Leon may have witnessed and that Sir Tomas may have heard.”

Clearing throats erupted throughout the council chamber. Apparent to everyone, the prince implied that he was exceedingly well endowed. Uther shifted uncomfortably in his chair to be discussing the size of his son's penis in council. He shifted more so in anger that his son was behaving no better than Lord Garnette. Abruptly, he ordered, “Everyone else, clear the count.” When no one moved fast enough while still engrossed by the prince's anatomy, he shouted, “Out! Now!”

Arthur and Sir Leon remained and with Merlin still kneeling on the floor. Gaius started leaving, too, but Uther shouted, again, “Gaius,” in an order for him to stay.

The old man exhaled before he turned around.

Merlin trembled, profusely. He now knew that Arthur had not betrayed him. As the room slowly cleared, he rummaged almost frantic to follow what was transpiring. His eyes dotted about the floor as if to envision his grey matter there. Deep within the grey, he prayed that the image he saw was his salvation.

When the council finally cleared and the guards closed the doors, Uther settled his irritated gaze upon Gaius. “Is there a cure for this warlock’s affliction,” he demanded to know, forthwith. 

“A cure,” Gaius repeated but rather slowly. He pretended to think but he had already prepared an answer for Uther. An answer that wasn’t a blatant lie. “I believe, sire,” he dredged up distant memories, “that I answered that question for you, over twenty years ago. Since your great purge, I’ve considered it a violation of your decree and no longer of interest to seek a cure.”

Uther shifted uncomfortably in his chair, again. He knew as well as Gaius what his phrase, “no longer of interest,” meant. A sorcerer, too, Gaius once searched to cure himself but now, he no longer had an interest in sex. Too much information for his son and the young knight, Uther quickly nodded and raised a hand to accept his answer. Without delay, he turned his attention back to Leon. “How many times did you hear this yelling and screaming,” he demanded.

“Um,” Leon hesitated and then reluctantly answered, “just the once, Sire.” 

Just the once. Uther had no choice but to accept his son's explanation. However, he couldn’t afford to discourage his knights in his war against witchcraft. “Sir Leon, your vigilance is commendable," he said. "Whenever you suspect sorcery, do not hesitate to bring it to my attention.”

“Yes, sire,” he said, while standing stiff and noble.

Uther had already turned his attention to Merlin, still kneeling and shaking at his feet. He thought to have the boy royally fucked to see if he were indeed a sorcerer but it was a practice that he despised and he turned narrowed eyes upon his son. Without looking at Gaius and Leon, he ordered, “you two are dismissed.” After a moment of hesitation, he added, “And Gaius, take your boy with you.”

By now, Merlin’s brain was empty. He had rummaged it clean. Not a thought was left inside and he could barely stand. Heavens forbid that he glance at Arthur or his tears would freely flow. Gaius helped him to his feet. Leon lent a hand on his elbow but inappropriate for a knight to offer a commoner much more, he preceded Gaius and Merlin out the doors. On four shaking legs, the two leaned discreetly to support each other as they slowly eased out, too. 

The instant the doors were closed again, Uther abruptly stood. Within inches of Arthur's face, he growled, “You dare to keep a catamite in my castle!”

Arthur offered a calm objection to his father’s rage. “Merlin is hardly a child,” he stated, matter of fact.

“And now, you make him a slave,” Uther countered. Walking away, he gave his order. “Summon a bounty hunter. Have him taken to Cendred’s kingdom and sold to the highest bidder.”

Still calm, Arthur spoke to his back. “I believe that my personal funds will surpass all bids.”

Uther whirled. He started to shout but the cool and defiant eyes he saw stopped his words. Uther felt blood suddenly rush into the back of his neck. For the first time in his life, he felt a measure of fear from his son. But he could never let Arthur know that. He narrowed his eyes as he said, “I see that you’re determined to keep this boy.”

Arthur continued to gaze upon his father. A year ago, he would not have dared challenge him with such casual defiance but Merlin was giving him the courage. He had always envied Merlin’s courage, his spirit, heart. He envied Merlin much more to learn that he was a sorcerer in his father’s kingdom. There was so much more to learn about Merlin, so much more that Merlin could teach him but for now, Arthur took a piece of his courage. He remained civil, clear and concise as he said, “What Sir Leon witnessed was not Merlin’s choice." Not a lie, Merlin did not chose his affliction, condemned to a madness verdict. "It is my conduct that has changed the course of his future. Now, my conduct must change it back. Camelot’s law states that he can now be sold a slave. To uphold the law, he will be sold to me. But on paper, alone. As for him being my catamite,” he said, with dispute over the term. “I know that you deplore the practice, but it is not against the law. If Merlin so chooses, he is to be my catamite and with the discretion that we’ve always shown.” Arthur then justified his actions. “Honor is a knight’s code. With efforts to salvage mine, these are my terms.” 

Uther was not so calm and civil. He didn't have to be. He was still the king. Arthur would be king someday but not yet. To save his fading authority, Uther made an insurmountable stipulation, convinced that his son's manservant would never agree. “If he is to be your catamite, then I order that he prove beyond doubt and before witness, that he is not a sorcerer. These are my terms!” 

Arthur calmly nodded. He had expected as much from his father and the reason he had toughened Merlin up. He also knew that Merlin currently felt effeminized enough but now he must convince Merlin to let him fuck him while someone else watched.


	17. The Pleasure Principle

Arthur hurried from the council room and through the castle’s winding corridors. He imagined that Merlin and Gaius were waiting, pacing and cussing him to the high heavens for what his bizarre pretense had just put them through. He was sure that they were scared half to death, worrying and wondering if Merlin would be banished from the kingdom an infamis or sold into slavery…

How strange, Arthur thought in his pace, that the ceilings did not seem quite so high or the hallways quite so wide as before. The thought of ruling Camelot was not as overwhelming to him, now that he had calmly contested the king. In his quick stride, Arthur gave his father’s demand very little consideration. His mind was filled with joy, instead. And relief. Merlin was safe for the moment and that was all that mattered. Tomorrow, he would consider his father’s outlandish stipulation but tonight, he wanted to make amends to Merlin. He had just taken him through the fiery lands of Hades, itself, and while riding only on trust.

But good news. One more little blaze and the road ahead seemed paved with dandelions. No more sneaking about in the predawn hours. No more quick masturbations and hurried kisses. No more hiding inside the canopy bed and in fact, no more hiding, at all. They were now free to cum at any time of the day that they so pleased, as long as they remained discreet. Besides, neither intended to roll about the training field or atop the dinner table with their lips and loins locked in lewd, lascivious and lecherous lust…

Their discretion would not matter much, anyway. Not after word spread from court council of the prince’s big ferocious anatomy and his manservant’s screaming little backside. Every passing soul would soon be gaping as if they were indeed copulating in the castle’s corridors or on the citadel’s front steps… A terrible burden, Arthur thought, when all he ever wanted was to make slow and leisurely love to Merlin in the privacy of his chambers and all night if the mood struck.

Right now, Arthur was in the mood for all night. Unfortunately, it was the middle of the day and he saw Sir Leon standing at the end of a hallway. Leon waited while gazing up at the walls. He looked as though he feared the stones were ready to topple down upon his head. Arthur suspected the reason he waited. He was sure that Leon wanted to explain why he turned his manservant over to the king.

But Arthur had expected him to do no less. In fact, he wondered what took Leon so long to save himself. While he busily toughened up Merlin, it occurred to him that Leon was trying to devise a plan to save Merlin, too. And he had. For that, Arthur now considered him far more than a trusted knight but a very dear friend.

When Leon saw Arthur approaching, his body twitched and his hand went instantly to his pommel like any threat. Leon perceived Arthur’s rapid pace to be one. “Sire,” he acknowledged with anxiety flickering in his eyes.

Arthur gave him a casual head dip but it was his small smile that spoke volumes. That smile put Leon at ease. In passing, Arthur said simply, “I’ll come to your quarters after a short delay.”

Leon turned and hurried there to wait.

 

Gaius beckoned Merlin to put his feet back up on his cot. “Will you please get some rest,” he insisted. “I’m sure that everything is going to be fine.”

Merlin obeyed but for all of three seconds before his shoes hit the floor, again. He sat on his bedside and stared the length of their quarters, waiting for Arthur to come through the door. Leaning forward, he was poised to jump up in an instant.

“Please, try to rest,” Gaius pleaded but more for personal reasons. He needed to go and rest his own wobbly legs. When Merlin did not move, Gaius gave out. He flopped there on the bed beside him. “Arthur will come to you as soon as he can.” he said, again.

“But why did he never tell me about Sir Leon or even Sir Tomas,” Merlin asked, with his eyes still glued to the door. “He’s known for nearly a year, now.”

“Merlin, I’m sure that he had his reasons. Perhaps, he didn’t want to worry you, like you’re worried, now. Arthur has shown that he trusts Leon and today, Leon proved himself worthy of that trust.”

Merlin whirled his face toward Gaius. “Proved himself worthy,” he decried. “Leon just tried to put me on a pyre!”

“Are you so sure about that,” Gaius asked, accompanied by his raised brow. “Things aren’t exactly what they seem.”

Merlin continued to stare at him. After days of confusion, he finally admitted, “Gaius, I’m not sure of anything, anymore. Maybe, I should just rest and wait for Arthur.”

The old man sighed that he had to stand, again. “Perhaps you should,” he tempered with a pat on Merlin’s shoulder but kept his hand in place and pulled himself up.

Merlin fell backward from the weight. Sprawled across his cot with his head hanging off, he uttered upside down. “Arthur, where are you?”

“I’m sure he’s coming,” Gaius answered and waddled out. Not the position he wanted for Merlin but at least the boy was finally reclining to rest his frazzled nerves. The instant Gaius closed his bedroom door to go rest his own, the other door opened. Arthur approached while carefully watching as Gaius slowly descended the steps. He searched the old physician's face for some indication of Merlin’s mindset. As Gaius approached Arthur, he searched his face too, and for indications of mental illness.

True to form, Arthur slipped back into his denial. “Where is that lazy idiot,” he barked.

Gaius shook his head at his blatant pretense and then pointed his head backward, toward the door just as Merlin’s voice rung out, “Arthur!” A second later, his door flung open.

Arthur huffed, “There you are, lazing again when my chambers are absolutely filthy. I want my bed linen changed, my floors scoured,” he spoke all the while he was leaving again. “My furniture polished, my windows washed…” 

“Windows,” Merlin asked, staring at his departing back. However, he started to smile. Arthur was telling him that everything was back to normal. He wouldn't be cast into the streets or banished or sold.

“Yes, my windows,” he answered. “And expect to stay all night.”

Merlin felt butterflies in his stomach. He hoped that Arthur was saying what he thought that he was saying.

 

A crude stare, a cruder snort and an outright giggle didn’t dampen Merlin’s hope, during the day. After facing the Fires of Uther in court, a crude stare or an outright giggle was child’s play. Merlin expected much worse until the news became old hat. He even expected to be royally fucked, if it proved to Uther that he was not a sorcerer. But if being fucked in public meant that he no longer had to hide his feelings for Arthur, then let the hat fall where it may, Merlin concluded.

After he cleaned, polished and used a bit of magic on the windows, Merlin spent much more time on himself. A thorough clyster preceded a long soak in Arthur’s tub. He thought to wash the clothes he was wearing, too and use his magic again to dry them. But who needed clothes, he hoped as he built a fire to chase the evening chill. He expected that Arthur would come soon after dining with his father.

 

In the dining hall, Arthur was grateful that the meal was almost over. Any other day, he would not have come to dinner but he considered it disrespectful to first contest and then ignore his father. However, the hour was exceptionally tense with Uther, Arthur, Morgana and even Guinevere engaged in awkward glances at each other. Morgana was fascinated by the rumors she had heard while Guinevere tried to hide her heartache. It was Uther and Arthur whose glances fired like crossbows across the table.

Finally, Morgana said, “It seems that Gwen and I missed another anatomical court today, while we shopped at the market. First, the size of Lord Garnette's anatomy and now, Arthur's.”

The crossbows were suddenly aimed at her. Thankfully, Guinevere took the fire. “And my lady,” she spoke up. “We must get your new dress hemmed for the garland competition tomorrow or I fear it won’t be ready.”

A shaky diversion that wouldn’t last long, Morgana knew when to leave. She tossed her napkin upon the table as she stood. “You’re right, Gwen. Perhaps, we should tend to that matter, now.”

The moment the door was closed, Uther stood leaving too, while issuing his orders. “Tomorrow. In court. At noon. Before my council of elders. Ensure that your manservant is present or there will be no bill of sale.”

“Father,” Arthur called after him in protest. “That’s hardly discreet, and for either of us, as we agreed upon!”

Uther was determined to make it clear that he still ruled Camelot. Without looking back, he answered, “my council of elders will show discretion enough.”

Arthur glared at his back. He had not anticipated so soon or so many. At least a dozen set of eyes. He was expecting only one elder, maybe the court physician or perhaps Geoffrey of Mammoth to legalize the sale and secure the title deed, after he discreetly fucked Merlin in the privacy of his chambers. But he knew that his father acted out of malice. The king did not want a catamite in his castle.

 

Arthur's chambers glowed warm and sensual with candlelight, firelight and a touch of frankincense in the air. Merlin walked about with only his white tunic, breeches and his bare feet. After all, Arthur did order him to stay the night. But just in case he got it wrong, he had put fresh linen on the servant’s cot. Maybe it had been a wise move, Merlin thought when he saw Arthur’s facial expression as he entered.

Arthur gave an unenthused glance about his sensuous quarters before he flopped down on his blanket chest. Merlin was already en route to the fireplace to fetch the last heating bucket of water for Arthur’s bath when he stopped and stared. Finally he asked, “Arthur?”

He sighed to answer, “Father.”

“Then, everything isn’t alright,” he uttered.

“I’m sorry, Merlin. I should have told you before I built our hopes up to the sky.”

Merlin started easing hesitantly toward him. “Told me what, Arthur,” he braved to ask.

Arthur rested his forearms upon his thighs and rubbed at his face. “Father is determined to see you sold from Camelot.”

“Determined,” he asked. He then rummaged his brain again and found that Uther didn’t need determination. A king simply sold someone. Unless. “You’re blocking his efforts, aren't you,” he deduced. "How?"

Arthur reached out and took Merlin by his wrist. He started swaying his arm in his flustered apology. “I’m trying,” he admitted with his head swaying in rhythm with his arm. “But Father’s stipulations are utterly ridiculous and the reason that he made them.”

“What stipulations, Arthur,” he asked but surprisingly, rather calm. He even surmised the answer. “That I disprove Leon’s accusation. And before half of Camelot.”

Arthur looked up at him with a stupefied furrow. He stammered, “his elders. But how did you know? I’ve told no one.”

Merlin concealed his anger at Uther's spiteful demand. With great effort, he smiled down at Arthur as he said, “constantly calling me an idiot doesn’t make me one.” He then denied Uther his victory by taking the golden opportunity to lean and kiss Arthur’s startled-opened mouth. Leading their tongues in a long waltz while swirling and twirling in every inch of available space, Merlin finally pulled back. In a breathless whisper, he said, “If it means that I can continue to do this, then I’ll prove to your father whatever he demands.”

Arthur was flabbergasted by his courage. However, Merlin knew that he needed to prove much more than courage to himself. Accepting Uther’s demand would be for naught if Arthur still found no pleasure in him. Merlin started lowering himself to his knees. With a sultry pout by the candlelight, he searched for a flicker of hope in Arthur’s eyes while his hands started opening his trousers.

Arthur gave him much more than a flicker. Desire blazed and he started sliding lower on his blanket chest while spreading his thighs. Consumed with anticipation for something he had never had, he watched Merlin in fascination. Gliding his fingers through the layers of his soft dark hair, Arthur savored the intimate sight and feel of Merlin’s face rubbing hard against his loins. He then watched as Merlin’s teeth gently etched the shape of his manhood through his small cloth. When Arthur’s pants became quick and his breathing ragged, Merlin also felt him straining against his confinement. A quick jerk that nearly pulled Arthur off the blanket chest, Merlin lowered his breeches and small cloth off his hips. He then resumed, rubbing his face and inhaling deeply of the day old musk created by sweat, constraint, time and now need… all of the scents that encompassed Arthur.

Merlin started at his base with long and slow strokes of his tongue, trailing saliva as he went. He moved from base to head, again and again, until he had completely covered Arthur’s underside. Lingering about his head, Merlin circled saliva and with another sultry gaze up into Arthur’s eyes, he took as much of him as he could swallow.

Arthur moaned. He then arched his back against the foot of his bed. After a moment, he settled and closed his eyes. With Merlin’s arms resting across his upper thighs and his hands gliding through his dark silky hair, Arthur used his strong legs to engage them in a gentle rocking rhythm. They were finally having the slow and leisurely passion in his chambers that had been denied to them.

With Merlin taking long hard pulls in tune to Arthur’s undulations, he soon felt Arthur pulsing and aching for relief. Arthur couldn’t hold back. He gripped Merlin by his hair and sped his motions. Low and frantic pants continued to escape him to hear Merlin groan out in his grip. His undulations soon turned frantic, too, and uneven, when suddenly he stilled Merlin’s head, pushed more of himself inside his mouth, and then erupted.

Merlin had to force his head up in order to swallow what Arthur gave him. It was salty, thick and tasted of honey to him. It was his own saliva, too. It was Arthur and himself, mixed together. Merlin greedily swallowed them both. What was left in his mouth, he started, again. Forcing his head to move in Arthur's grip, he slid his mouth up and down his length, again, while using his strong jaws to milk Arthur completely dry.

Arthur collapsed, including his knees. He lay sprawled with his boots extended, eyes closed and his head thrown backward on his bed. “The gods, Merlin,” he uttered.

Merlin had joy on his face. He sat on his haunches between Arthur's spread legs and watched him. He knew that he had given Arthur pleasure. But regrettably, any maidservant from the morning procession could have done the same. Now, he needed to know if Arthur could still find pleasure in him. Merlin rose and moved about the chambers. First of all, he locked the doors. He then rebuilt the fire. While Arthur lay debating if he wanted to move or not, Merlin made his preparations. He retrieved the washbasin and returned to the floor between Arthur’s thighs. He knew how much Arthur loved the feel of a warm cloth and his careful fingers tenderly rubbing him clean.

But afterwards, Merlin took the warmed vial of oil and thoroughly coated Arthur, again. In his efforts to learn if Arthur still desired him, he quickly lowered his breeches and turned around. In a teasing motion, Merlin lowered his hips and while barely touching Arthur, he started circling them against his manhood.

Arthur’s head and his other head both sprung up. He then watched Merlin reach behind himself and insert a finger, pushing it far inside. As Arthur lay admiring the display, his own hips started move on their own volition. Without a thought, he moved strictly on instinct. A second finger inside Merlin made Arthur undulate harder to watch. But a display that he could not resist the need to touch, Arthur sat up, reached out and started easing his own finger inside, too.

Merlin gasped out in ecstasy to feel his unexpected touch. His mind started to plead, "please, please, please." Desperate for Arthur to find pleasure n him, again, he started rocking back and forth while moving up and down on their three digits but he grew completely still when he felt Arthur slowly easing in a fourth. Together, they thoroughly stretched him, long and leisurely until Merlin heard the one word that he yearned to hear. He heard Arthur utter out loud. "Please.”

Overwhelmed to hear it, Merlin raised from their fingers, reached back and took Arthur’s length in his hand. Guiding Arthur, he lowered himself and did not stop until his hips rested flushed against his groins. However, he could not remain. He braced him hands on Arthur’s thighs and raised up until only Arthur’s head stayed inside him. Merlin continued to lower and raise himself until he felt completely comfortable.

Once comfortable, Arthur laid them backward with his back upon the bed. Half seated and half reclined, Merlin turned his face in search of his mouth. Slow and leisurely they kissed as Arthur took his length in hand and leisurely stroked while they leisurely rolled to move Arthur buried deep inside him. But such a slow and leisurely passion could not stay slow and leisurely for long. As their kisses turned into moans needing more, the rolls became desperate attempts to thrust. Arthur suddenly wrapped both arms around Merlin’s stomach and started to rise. Neither wanted to break their union and Merlin gripped Arthur behind his back and held on.

Frantic, again, Arthur stood with Merlin's weight and turned them around. Merlin now faced the blanket chest. He braced his hands upon it and lowered himself to his elbows. With his hips raised high, he offered Arthur all of himself. Arthur readily took what he offered, now. He slid deeper inside him as Merlin moaned out, muttering, pleading and calling his name. “Arthur, please, please, Arthur, please…” He pleaded that Arthur could still find pleasure in him.

Arthur answered him with a series of rapid thrusts. "Yes, Merlin, yes, yes," he moaned, too, with each forceful snap of his hips. "Give me all of you. Give it to me, Merlin. Please. I want all of you,” he pleaded, too. Merlin started thrusting his hips backward to meet his forward thrusts. Desperate to feel the pleasure in each other, desperate to find their release, they pounded and slapped together while begging and pleading for it.

But neither would satisfy. Arthur wrapped his arms around Merlin’s abdomen and physically lifted him, again. Intuitively, Merlin knew where he was going. He used his arms and Arthur used his legs as they moved backward and lowered themselves to the floor. They resumed, pounding mercilessly against each other. Arthur continued to plead for his orgasm. “Give it to me Merlin, please, give it to me,” as Merlin continued to plead for Arthur to find pleasure in him. “Please, Arthur, take it from me. Please, take it from me…”

Arthur suddenly did. He wrapped his arms around Merlin’s abdomen again and fell back onto his haunches while bringing Merlin with him. They almost broke apart, but in the split second that Merlin fell back down upon his manhood, Arthur thrust his hips upward.

Merlin felt as though half of Arthur’s scrotum went inside him, too. He turned his face skyward and cried to heaven to be so totally possessed by Arthur. 

When Arthur wrapped his arms around him, again, pushed them back to their knees and started to shudder deep inside him, Merlin’s tears freely flowed to learn that Arthur still found pleasure in him.

Arthur still held love for a sorcerer.


	18. Sweet Dearie

Neither had known such peace and contentment. The problems of the world seemed to fade away. After hours of continuous passion and fury, they lay in bed with Arthur reclined behind while he leisurely rolled against Merlin, again. He used his bicep as a pillow for Merlin with his fingers gently and absently kneading his scalp. Merlin threatened to drift but in sleep, he would miss the precious pamper. He refused to succumb and he waged a battle against sleep with words as his weaponry. “Arthur,” he asked, “When and where is this public spectacle to take place?”

Arthur seemed to be drifting, too. Offhand, he answered, “Um, I must speak with father again, about that.” 

“Your father is demanding a lot from me but don’t worry,” he sought to reassure Arthur. “When the time comes, I have only to close my eyes and concentrate on you being inside me.” 

Against his ear, Arthur whispered, “like now,” as he stopped rolling and cautiously guided himself. All the while, he held his breath. It didn’t take a scholar to know that Merlin’s attempt to reassure him was in reality an attempt to reassure himself. Arthur hardened his resolve. No man should be subjected to such humiliation, publicly effeminated while other men watched and obvious to Arthur, his father thought so, too, and the reason that he made the wicked demand.

The moment Arthur’s soft head pressed against its goal, Merlin groaned out though an incredulous laugh. “Perhaps, not like now,” he gritted through his grin and grimace. 

“That sore,” he asked, anxious to verify his pain. Arthur laughed with him but his laughter disguised his relief. There would be no public humiliation, later that day. Maybe, never. He hoped to postpone the event until his father eventually grew tired or softened his stance or finally saw reason. 

Merlin laughed, again. “Thanks to you, I’ll be standing all week.” 

“I’m sorry,” he apologized and he snuggled tighter to demonstrate his apology. “Let’s get some sleep.”

 

 

“Out!” Uther shouted at his old manservant to leave. Across the king's royal chambers, the nosy old fellow rushed instead to finish brushing his short black royal cape. Uther shouted at him, again. “I said, out!” 

“Yes, my lord,” he answered with a bow and then he made quick strides. In passing the king, he handed him his cape, nodded to the prince and hurried away. The instant he closed the king’s door, Uther turned his anger back to Arthur. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you,” he demanded to know.

“But now a moot point, father,” he insisted. “Merlin will still be unable to fulfill your stipulation today and perhaps, not for several more days.” 

Deplore darkened Uther’s eyes. He slung his cape across his shoulders as he gazed upon his son. “You should have considered that before you took your pleasure from him, last night.” He then snatched his crown from atop his wardrobe. Victory rising just above his deplore, he gave an ultimatum. “Either he faces my elders at noon, today, as I ordered, or he’ll be carted from my kingdom by nightfall.” 

“Father, be reasonable,” he protested. “Give him at least a few days to heal. I’m sure that we’ll meet your demand,” 

“Today,” he interrupted and with malice. “If not, you will have no bill of sale.” In his own quick stride toward his door, he implied that his decision was final. “I have a strategy meeting to attend,” he said. “I suggest that you do the same with my training.” 

Arthur deepened further his resolve and he barked at his father’s back. “As you command, my lord!” However, he had one more trick up his sleeve.

 

The girl was pretty enough. A few years older than Merlin and maybe as many as ten but actually quite lovely. Her skin tone and hair color reminded Arthur of himself. For an infamis, she appeared healthy and even slightly plump. Talkative, too. She said that she would take no less than a hundred gold coins for the strange request that the young knight fetched her there to perform. Who ever heard of public sex, she asked. The king would surely hang her, afterwards. Even if the king didn't hang her, he certainly would not let her resume her trade in Camelot, now that he would know. Besides, she didn’t want to resume her trade. With a hundred gold coins, she could purchase her own tavern in another kingdom or her own land or even a husband…

Hidden deep in the armory, Arthur gave her ten gold coins to seal the deal and told his young knight to take her to Gaius. He said that the old physician would know what to do with her. Meanwhile, he rushed back to his chambers. He was sure that Merlin was close to finishing all of his boots, by now. 

Within moments after Arthur returned to his chambers, however, Merlin went pale. He wondered if Arthur had some subconscious and deep-seated desire to cause his heart to fail. “Today,” he uttered as the boot he polished dropped from his hand. It hit the floor beside the dinner table where he stood and with a resounding thud. He then begged to understand as he turned his pale body and stared at Arthur. "Then, you knew this, last night," he asked. "And all the while that you… That I… That we…”

Arthur started rubbing his shoulders in efforts to bring back his circulation. “Merlin, let me explain,” he pleaded. "The situation is not as bad as it seems,"

Merlin continued to beg for understanding. “And all the while, you knew that I wouldn’t be able to meet your father’s demand, today?” 

“Merlin, please,”

“…And you knew that if I couldn’t, I’d be hanged,” 

“Merlin,”

“…Or burned…” 

“Merlin,”

“…Or chopped up…”

“Merlin,”

“…Or sold…”

“Merlin!” 

“…a prostitute?”

“Shut up!”

Merlin did. He had nothing left to ask. Instead, he continued to stare at Arthur while waiting for his answer.

Now that Arthur finally had him quiet, he didn’t know where to start to explain. Nor did he have the time. With a grimace, he said, “I’m afraid that we’re expected in the council chambers, this very moment.”

Merlin felt faint.

Arthur watched his eyes lose focus for a brief moment. He feared that Merlin might fall down and he reached out and held him up. Literally dragging him over to his desk, Arthur stuck his hand in his water pitcher and started patting his face. When Merlin seemed steady on his feet again, Arthur started pulling him out the door. While he pulled him to the council chambers, he kept insisting, “Trust me. Say nothing, at all. Just let me do all of the talking. Trust me…”

Each time that Arthur said, “trust me,” Merlin felt faint, again.

Arthur took the liberty to drag Merlin through the king’s private entrance. He wanted to avoid the many faces in the major corridors left wondering why Merlin was so pale. However, the moment that they entered the council chambers, Arthur went pale, too. At his own stupidity. What he saw made him turn pale. He had been so wrong. His father was far more malicious than he had imagined. Granted, he had expected to see his father waiting impatiently in his council chair. He had also expected to see the dozen or so elders seated in a semi-circle near the double doors. He had even expected to see the raggedy and disrespecting dungeon mattress thrown in the center of the room. But what he had not expected to see was the big and brawny man standing beside the old mattress.

Arthur clenched his jaws in anger. How dare his father select another man to penetrate Merlin when Merlin belonged to him. In his malice, his father had chosen an enormous and dirty farmer, probably the largest that he could find and from one of the outlying villages, Arthur surmised. Apparently, fetched by Sir Tomas. The old knight stood against a sidewall while the big brawny man kept looking at him as if awaiting further instructions. 

Arthur lingered a moment near the pillars at the entrance. Again, he hardened his resolve. He pried Merlin’s hand from his elbow and put it on a pillar to replace his own support. He then moved toward his council chair beside the king. “Father,” he stiffly acknowledged.

Without delay, Uther instructed, “Bring your manservant forward. You’ve kept my elders waiting long enough. Let’s get this over with.”

Arthur half listened to his low and irritated words. As he took his seat, his eyes went instantly toward the double doors several paces behind the elders. With his eyes glazed over to conceal his panic, he wondered where were Gaius and the girl. 

While Arthur stared at the doors, Merlin stared at the big brawny farmer and at the dirty dungeon mattress. He was feeling faint, again. Already leaned against the pillar, he slid his shoulders to slowly eased behind it. Frantic, he tried to remember his healing spells. Muttering one after the other while he flashed gold his eyes, he soon fought more panic. An annoying itch was quickly escalating into light pricks in his fibers. The warlock’s affliction 'was' his magic, Gaius had said, or rather, caused by it. Any efforts to heal himself only made matters worse. 

Just then, the guards allowed Gaius and the girl through the double doors.

Uther came to his feet and demanded of the old physician, “Gaius, what is the meaning of this!”

Arthur came to his feet, too. “They are here upon my request,” he answered and with an equal authority in his tone. “As I’m sure that Gaius will verify, this ridiculous test that you demand can be performed in two ways. Since you failed to stipulation which manner, I now reserve that right to decide!”

“You reserve,” Uther snarled, preposterous. “No doubt, another scheme that you've designed, after you took your night’s pleasure from him to purposely leave him unfit to perform my test!” 

Arthur countered, “And yet, the same pleasure that you confess to deplore but now, demand! If you deny my reserve, then I must contend that you do so out of malice and out of spite!” He then looked toward Uther’s own elders for their judgment.

It was true, the elders all knew. The king did deplore the practice. Just recently, he spewed his ill-will toward Lord Garnette for grooming his catamite. They started to nod their consensus. If the king chose the man over the woman when he despised sexual activity between men, then his reason must be deemed spiteful and malicious. With the elders all nodding, Gaius wasted little time to seize the opportunity. He took the girl quickly by the elbow and started parading her through the seated elders and toward the mattress.

Uther watched the scene unfold before him. Twelve nodding heads with Gaius and the girl rushing forward. He felt overwhelmed. At the same time, he couldn’t choose what he deplored when a less deplorable alternative was being offered. Uther now felt defeated. In his defeat, he paced several steps away in thought and then he turned his gazed upon his son. He didn’t know whether to be angry at him or feel proud of him. 

For several moments, father and son stared at each while sharing their emotional turmoil. Uther finally nodded to concede. “Fetch your manservant,” he ordered. “Let’s get this test over with.”

Arthur quickly called out, “Merlin!” 

Merlin was up to pins and needles, by now. Still, he kept trying. Zoned in on his magic, he never heard.

“Merlin!”

Zapped out of his zone, he slowly slid around the pillar. Once back into view, however, his eyes instantly honed in on a woman standing in the middle of the room. The same woman who knew that he had problems with his erection. The same woman that he had gone to, after he left Arthur. The same woman who could possibly seal his fate. Merlin froze with his back to the pillar while he broke into a cold sweat. And another needle stuck him.

Arthur whispered, “Merlin,” now thoroughly confused by his sheer fear of the woman. 

“Dearie!” The girl called out. She was surprised and happy to see him. However, her surprise was quickly turning into disbelief, and even anger. She realized that her dearie was the person that she was to openly engage in sex. She stood by the mattress while she continued to decipher what was transpiring in the room. Apparent to her, the big brawny farmer fellow standing next to the mattress, too, was supposed to engage her dearie, instead. No, she thought. Not her kind, chivalrous and inexperienced dearie who had a love for someone so powerful and yet so gentle and so rare… 

“Arthur,” Uther insisted. “Does your manservant know this woman?”

Arthur utter, “Merlin,” to know that answer, himself. He wondered how long Merlin had been frequenting prostitutes, especially after last night when Merlin… When he… When they… Arthur’s eyes started to show his enormous hurt. Unable to hide his emotions, he turned aside from everyone and stared toward the king’s private entrance. In silence, he concentrated with efforts to regulate his breathing.

From the pillar, Merlin looked at the side of his face. “Arthur,” he whispered in a desperate effort to explain the young woman. “Please, trust me,” he begged.

Arthur refused to turn his head in the slightest to offer him even a glance. He feared that his tears would start to flow.

Uther called, “Arthur!” Insistent, again, he ordered, “Let’s get this test over with. Whether he knows this woman is irrelevant.”

The girl continued to watch Merlin and Arthur. Still deciphering, it was becoming clear to her that Arthur was who her dearie harbored a love that was so powerful and yet, so gentle and so rare…

Uther demanded, yet again. “Arthur!"

The girl slowly turned her gaze upon the king. “It aint right,” she spoke out. 

Uther whirled his face toward her. “Silence,” he ordered her.

The girl braved to contradict him. “Me silence still won’t make it right.” 

“I said silence or I’ll have you thrown in my dungeons,” he now threatened.

“In that case,” she said, “I guess I’ll just have to earn me punishment.” She continued to talk. After all, she was very talkative.

Beside her, Gaius was beckoning frantically for her to stop talking and Arthur had quickly turned around. They couldn’t afford to lose her or Merlin would be back at the mercy of the big brawny farmer.

The girl still would not stop. But surprisingly, her tone was not antagonistic. Instead, she had a pleasing and even delightful way of speaking when she said, “It makes no sense to me, at all. Fighting over love. Either you fight or you love. But you don’t fight over love. Strange, the things men do. It makes no sense to me, at all.” 

Slightly plump and actually quite lovely, she had a way with men. The elders were starting to sit forward in their chairs, captivated by her youth, her commoner’s brass and her unabashed sexual appeal. Even Uther was starting to be enthralled. He found himself hesitant to stop her from speaking. Before he could, she continued. “It’s as plain as the nose on me face that those two over there are in love with each other,” she reasoned. “And yet, you fight over it. Why can’t they just love? It makes no sense to me, to fight over love…”

Uther looked around at his son and manservant standing in utter anguish near his pillars. By the gods, the girl was right, he suddenly realized.

She continued to address the king. “…Makes no sense to me, either, that you’re trying to prove if me dearie, there, can have sex when it seems to me that he already has, since you accused your son, there, of leaving him unfit to have more.”

Uther stared at the girl. They all did. For a lowly and unschooled infamis, she was making perfect sense. Uther abruptly turned and stalked toward the pillar and toward Merlin. He grabbed Merlin by the arm and yanked him back around the pillar and out of view.

“Father,” Arthur protested, but Merlin was already pulling down his own breeches. He would gladly show the king in private than be fucked in public. He grimaced but made no sound when Uther forcibly spread his cheeks. Bruised and discolored, Uther almost grimaced, himself. He doubted if any warlock could have withstood that much sexual activity. “Gaius,” he called, requesting his physician.

As Gaius scurried toward Uther, Arthur went toward the girl. He beckoned for Sir Tomas on his way. With a head nod to the girl implying thank you, Arthur instructed, “This fine knight will escort you back to Gaius’ quarters. Wait for me, there.”

From behind the pillar, Uther shouted, "The council is dismissed."


	19. Arthur's To Give

The young woman waited at the physician’s eating table. Her eyes roamed over the many medical gadgets and over the countless colorful little bottles cluttering the room. Her eyes roamed but her mind stayed on her purse. Surely, she deserved more compensation, she thought, although she had not completed her task. Ten additional coins, she expected the prince to offer her and yet, she would haggle with him for the whole one hundred. Still a reasonable price… for her knowledge. 

Prostitution left her intimately acquainted with scores of men. Acquainted with their sexual dysfunctions, as well. While she gazed, she recalled the male prostitutes that she had known. Their lives were far harder than her own. Often slandered as moral deviants, many were beaten and a few had died but never had she known one to be publicly fucked and by order of the king. Obvious to her, the reason was to prove if her dearie was…

The door suddenly opened and the prince entered in a rush. She came quickly to her feet. “Me lord,” she acknowledged and while slightly frightened by his rapid approach.

Arthur was already extending a hand. His other hand held a small sack of gold.

In her startle, she spoke mainly in defense. “But, I didn’t keep me deal,” she said, although she was not startled enough to miss seeing the small sack. Another twenty gold coins, she guessed as she shook his hand before receiving the sack from his other. Apparent to her, the prince thought the amount was reasonable. She pretended that it was reasonable, too, and she quickly dug into her skirt pocket and fetched her first ten coins. She added them with the twenty or so. Thirty gold coins, she assumed and she clutched the sack to her body as if she now owned the world. “Thank you, me lord,” she said. “I knew that you were a kind and generous master the moment that I set me eyes upon you. Your efforts to save me sweat dearie from that big dirty fellow proved me right. I doubt if anyone could have done a better job.” 

Arthur glanced into her eyes. Both knew that she had saved the day. He dipped his head in gratitude as he motioned for her to sit, again. However, he remained standing. A show of chivalry but more so, he sought a dominant strategy. He wanted answers. “I also pay for information,” he said, justifying his generosity.

As she sat with his weak generosity in her lap, she knew that she deserved far more. In a feigned joy, she laughed out as she said, “imagine me, the prince of Camelot.”

“I Beg your pardon,” he asked while furrowing down at her.

“The information you seek,” she surmised, although not surprised. With almost a giggle, she explained, “I’m sure that me dearie imagined that I was you. So, imagine me, the prince of Camelot. I’ve been at me trade long enough to know a few things. Like, when I’m being used as a substitute. But me dearie couldn’t go through with it. He told me that someone else commanded his heart,” she said, convinced that Arthur needed to hear the words. She then smiled up at him as she remembered Merlin’s kiss. It was so powerful and yet so gentle and so rare. “Trust me,” she assured him. “He loves you. That’s why I did what I did in that courtroom. I couldn’t bear to see him hurt. And neither could you, by the stress on your face each time you looked at that huge fellow, standing near the mattress, too,” 

Arthur’s furrow didn’t ease as he continued to stare down at her. He knew many women from royalty, commoners to hordes of servants but none struck him as being so shrewd. He wondered just how shrewd while she kept talking in her delightful and flirtatious little manner. 

“Too bad,” she said, “that me dearie had to come looking for someone like me to give his love to you. But I guess that he needed some way to express himself with Camelot's laws being what they are. But it pained him that I wasn’t you. I mean, with you being a prince and all, it’s not like you can give him what he wants or you might become an infamis, too.” 

Amusement in his eyes to watch her, Arthur stood, flabbergasted with her, now. 

She started to gaze again at the medicines cluttering the chambers. In a voice filled with reminisce and even regret for her lifestyle, she said, “I’ve known many men and the ailments that many of them suffer. It’s a good thing that me dearie has a king’s physician to help keep him well and," She started standing as she completed her sentence. "And safe." With added effort to stand, she lifted the heavy sack from her lap. But surprising to her, she didn’t need the effort and her hand rose much higher than intended. “Oh,” she apologized for her clumsiness and with a seductive little sideway glance up at Arthur. Both knew what she implied. Her sack was not heavy enough.

Arthur stifled a smirk at her antics. He stifled his alarm, too, while he waited, anticipating her next words.

She gave them and with a slightly frightful look about the room, again. “I would surely hate to still be here in Camelot if the king should want to ask me questions, like you,” she said. As she spoke, she clutched her sack tighter. It made the faintest jingle. “I love me freedom but your father seems to want me in his dungeons. But no matter,” she added with a sigh. “Me dearie loves you. I’ll be content to go to his dungeons while knowing that.”

The sly little blackmailer, Arthur thought. But as she had so aptly put, a prostitute knew scores of men as well as their sexual dysfunctions. No doubt, she had come across the warlock’s affliction in her trade. Arthur was more concerned by her words than angry with her blackmail because he knew that she was right. It was best that she leave Camelot. He accepted her terms. “Merlin loves me and that’s well worth knowing,” he agreed with her logic and he took his personal sack of gold from his belt. She readily opened her own that he could add to it. Over a hundred coins when Arthur stopped pouring, he insisted while leaving, “I expect you to be gone from Camelot by nightfall.”

“I’m already packed, me lord,” she assured him, speaking to his back. “I couldn’t very well stay here after engaging in public sex, now could I? Your father would have had me hanged.”

Arthur gave a silent snort as he opened the door. Too bad that Camelot wasted such wisdom, he thought. If king, he probably would make her a member of his council. “By the way, what is your name,” he asked before he left.

“Boleyn, me lord. Leingale Boleyn.” 

 

 

Arthur returned to his chambers. He saw Merlin but hesitantly entered while glancing about as if looking for Gaius.

Equally hesitant to speak, Merlin watched him from his squat beside the wardrobe. He sorted tunics for the laundry basket and tossed those fit for another wear back upon the bed. “Gaius left,” he volunteered, aware of Arthur's exaggerated search.

“Oh,” Arthur said while stiffly approaching him. “And his diagnosis,” he asked.

Merlin gave him a slight head shake to dismiss his sore and bruised anus as trivial. Instead, he uttered, “Arthur, I’m sorry. I should have told you about the woman. But there was really nothing much to tell. I couldn’t go through with it. It’s just that I,”

“Shut up,” he interrupted as if angry. However, his eyes told a different tale. Apology deep within them, he answered his earlier plea. “Merlin, I do trust you,” he said. “I understand why you went to her. I take blame for that. If I had offered you more of myself, perhaps,” he tailed, as he sat on the bed beside Merlin and tossed his tunics back into the basket. “All of them,” he ordered, but with a smile as he yanked Merlin up by his neckerchief while falling backward. Merlin landed on top of him. 

Arthur closed his eyes as he engaged him in several long kisses. Suddenly, his eyes flung open as he felt Merlin’s passion quickly turning into pain. “Merlin?” he insisted. 

“You don’t want to know,” he answered with a grimace, as another needle stick. After all, in their bizarre pretense, his magic didn’t exist. 

 

Arthur could not bare the gags, again. Not when mouth gags left Merlin literally convulsing in an added agony. Arthur finally sold the old tower to him. There, he could let Merlin yell into his own mouth when the time came. In the old tower, they didn't have to cower inside a small wall of drapes. Their third effort to toughen him up took less work than the previous two, they discovered. Even with his pains mostly gone, the old tower continued to offer them a sense of freedom. Any time of day they chose, they didn’t fear the constant knocks on the prince chamber door.

With a book in hand, Arthur stopped by the king’s strategy room. “Father,” he announced. “If any urgent matters arise, you’ll find me in the old tower.”

Uther looked up in his stance, hunched over his map table. A solemnity entered his eyes that did not go unnoticed. Uther assumed that his son sought full discretion with his catamite, there. He would never forbid Arthur from going to the old tower but both knew that he would never follow. His memories of his wife were too great. Nor would Uther sent anyone to interrupt them and thus, give attention to what he deplored. The castle had to be burning, first. Uther simply nodded in his concession. 

Arthur nodded, too, and then tried to reconcile his father’s disappointment and his somber memories. “I’ll join you for dinner,” he promised. Leaving in a casual pace, he continued toward the small servant’s stairwell. Once out of view, his feet took flight up to the old spiral case. Equally as fast, he entered the courtier’s chambers and quickly bolted the door. 

Merlin sat on the bedside, waiting again. Before him, a fire blazed beneath a caldron of water hanging just off the hearth and a tray of fruit, bread and water rested on a nearby table. The large bed, fireplace and table were all that remained in the spacious and airy room. Fit for a lady-in-waiting, the quarters were almost as large as Arthur’s royal chambers. In silence, Merlin watched his quick entry. Obvious to him, Arthur was eager to penetrate him, again. In contrast, Merlin wore a lackluster, exhausted expression that seemed to ask, why bother. 

Exhaling through a laborious sigh, Merlin leaned over and untied his boots. He was basically tough again but questioned the good he gained. Still only half a lover, he could not claim Arthur in return. When he sat up after untying his boots, he saw Arthur easing across the room in a quiet and deadly crouch, as if silently stalking a prey.

Merlin’s eyes widened. “Arthur,” he asked, confused by his strange play. "What are you doing?"

In a sudden leap, Arthur pounced. He landed on top of Merlin while using one his patented warrior maneuvers. With one quick and coordinated motion, he pushed Merlin backward with his head landing on the pillows as he pulled his legs up on the bed. Arthur had hog-tied many opponents with the same tactic…

“Arthur, what are you doing,” he insisted, again while struggling to rise but before he could finish his sentence, Arthur already had his tongue between his open lips. Merlin stopped struggling. The fledgling words fizzled on his lips as he let his mouth become an explorer’s delight. He readily surrendered until their lips parted like a suction cup with both gasping for air. 

Arthur allowed him no time to recoup. He started kissing him while he shifted about on top. Merlin felt his breeches go, first. Startled by how fast, his oxygen-starved mind wondered if Arthur might be a secret sorcerer, too. Dizzying from the kiss, Merlin managed to distinguish the tangled thud of his boots and trousers hitting the floor. Kicked off the foot of the bed in Arthur’s haste. Merlin failed to recall exactly when his shirt was pushed up and bunched around his shoulders. 

Without warning, Arthur latched on to one of his nipples. With his lips, he gripped hard enough to make Merlin grit his teeth in pain. All Merlin could manage to do, he arched his spine into the rough pinches of pain and pleasure. 

Once Arthur was satisfied to leave little red rosebuds twitching in his wake, he continued down while inching his knees toward the end of the bed. He left bite marks while he slowly descended but he often doubled back, licking and soothing them on Merlin’s sternum, stomach and abdomen until he reached his groins… Arthur lingered while he worried the tender flesh around his scrotum. 

Merlin felt his mind start to escape him. It seemed to float haphazardly in a world of confused sensations. Remnants of his pain mixed with his pleasure and he didn’t know which was hotter -- the blazing fire at his side or Arthur’s face buried deep in his groins. He couldn’t tell which was more painful -- his ailment or Arthur’s teeth. Nor could he determine which was more erotic -- Arthur’s incredibly wet tongue lapping in his creases or the versatility of his tongue as it started to flick circles around his head…

Merlin suddenly witnessed beyond a doubt the most satisfying sight that he could have imagined -- Arthur’s sultry blue eyes gazing up at him as his manhood slowly disappeared inside his mouth. Merlin’s mind floated away. It didn’t return until he felt the desperate urge to thrust. For the rest of his life, he would remember the first one he made. And his second. And the third. He was finally making love to Arthur the way that he had yearned. Finally, he was claiming Arthur as his own.

Arthur let himself be claimed. In his eagerness, he sought to encourage Merlin. Sliding his hands underneath him, he took hold of his cheeks and helped to guide him. All the while, he absorbed his trusts. One after the other. 

Merlin soon grabbed Arthur by his nap as his thrusts grew fierce, raggedy and uneven. Arthur struggled to keep his straight. He gripped his cheeks tighter and held on when suddenly, Merlin shuddered in his release. Again, Arthur let himself be claimed. Readily, he swallowed what Merlin offered him…

Trembling in his last sensations, Merlin collapsed. Tears of joy started to flow freely from his eyes. Arthur curled his legs at the foot of the bed, rested his face against his softening flesh and started to talk to him. “Merlin,” he said. “I do love you. I always have. Please, wait," he asked him. "Wait for me. Wait until I'm king."


End file.
